The Dragon and the Wolf
by KnowledgeandImagination
Summary: A man bound by duty and destiny. A woman of free spirit with iron will. A love of fiery passion and sweet tenderness. But their world is too cruel for such a thing to survive, and the realm that has long been on the brink of chaos and war teeters ever closer to an explosion. Moments lost in time, secrets, tragedy, and lies. This is the tale of the Dragon and the Wolf.
1. Prologue

**The Dragon and the Wolf**

_Summary: __He, a man bound by duty and destiny. She, a woman of free spirit with iron will. Theirs, a love of fiery passion and sweet tenderness. But their world is too cruel for such a thing to survive, and the realm that has long been on the brink of chaos and war teeters ever closer to an explosion and destruction. A love story that turns to tragedy, moments lost in time, secrets, and lies. This is the tale of the Dragon and the Wolf, the song of Ice and Fire. RxL_

Disclaimer: Do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones.

The release of the trailer today prompted me to post this at last. I'm a little nervous because this is the first time venturing into this fandom, and I'm very out of my comfort zone, but I wanted to use this opportunity to get back into writing again, and also be able to write this before season 8 influences my ideas/storyline too much (this may end up being a bit AU). I also want to note that this story will be written more as a series of interconnected oneshots rather than a single chronological story, as I wanted to test out this style. Also, would much appreciate if you would read the first author's note at the end of the chapter. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

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"_It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."_

-Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

_**Prologue**_

It was an uncharacteristically cold day when her mother died. The skies had been grey, and a chill had settled over Winterfell. Though winter had not come for several years, it felt like winter that day in the stronghold of the North.

"My Lady…" a maid said quietly, hesitantly. The words felt like ice going through her heart. Lady. She was considered the lady of the house now. At only 8 years of age, Lyanna Stark felt woefully unprepared for the task.

"Has a raven been sent to my father?" she asked in her best formal tone. The maid nodded.

"Your brother has seen to it, my lady."

Lyanna gave the maid a nod of thanks, and stepped closer to the former sickbed, now deathbed. Lyarra Stark was still and severe in death, so unlike how she had been in life. Lyanna remembered her mother as having always been kind, compassionate, yet strong-willed. She had always had a warm heart and ready smile to give love and comfort.

She would never feel that comfort again.

The lump in the young girl's throat felt harder than ever, and she felt the tears roll down her cheeks as she collapsed by her mother's cooling body, sobbing.

Her brother Brandon found her like that, about a quarter of an hour later. He said nothing, just held her tightly while she cried the last of her tears. Her second brother, Eddard, came by after that. He also had no words, but placed a comforting hand on her back while he held back his own grief. The three siblings stayed that way a long time, trying to sort out the feelings they felt were much too adult for their age, and when morning came, the world felt a lot colder and darker than it had been for years, now that their mother's smile was gone from it.

Lord Rickard Stark, the Warden of the North and the Lord of Winterfell, arrived back home early the next morning, his trade talks at Whiteharbor postponed with his wife's sudden death. The Funeral was held soon afterwards. Even the cold and chilly weather of the North would not preserve Lady Lyarra Stark's body for long, after all.

Lyanna stood solemn and tall next to her brothers after the ceremony, staring at the tomb that now held her mother's body. Only days ago, she had been alive and warm (despite the toll her illness had taken on her), had patted Lyanna on the head, called her 'my little wild wolf', and kissed her forehead goodnight. Her hands clenched, and she heard her younger brother Benjen Stark protest at the pressure. She sucked in a deep breath, trying hard not to resent Benjen for this. It wasn't his fault, her father had said. Her mother had already been weak when pregnant with him, and his birth had made her health decline even faster… but Lyanna mustn't blame her brother. He was innocent, and her mother had wanted to bring him into the world more than anything. She now had to be a good big sister for him, be the mother he barely remembered, and be there for him. After all, hadn't her mother also entreated her to do the same?

She understood all that logically. But her emotions would not let her truly accept it.

It would regrettably take a year before she could live up to her father's words. Until then, the world seemed to the young girl so very cold and suddenly unforgiving. Even the sun seemed to have dimmed, and the winds harsher. Thigns that used to bring her joy alternatively made her angry or brought her to the brink of tears. And when there was nothing to trigger her grief, all she felt was a numbing chill deep within her.

Was this what it was like, she wondered, when the Other's from the North first attacked Westeros? She had heard legends of these fearsome creatures from the Far North… beings made of ice, who brought only cold and death. Winter had not yet come to Westeros, and yet her heart felt frozen. No matter how many times she rode across the wilderness of the North, how many times she snuck into the weapon stores and furiously tried to teach herself how to use a sword, how many times she sat by the fire blinking back tears, nothing distracted her from the pain of loss.

Her dreams also started becoming filled with ice. Ever since that horrible day, she would often dream of herself in a freezing blizzard, struggling to find shelter and warmth. All around her was nothing but frost covered ruins, dead plant life, and desolate fields of ice that stretched limitlessly around her. It was so bleak, so lonely, so… empty. There was nothing… nothing but death.

Day after day, she dreamt of this hopeless scene. But one night, it suddenly changed. As she trudged through the snows in her dream, she suddenly felt blazing heat behind her. At the same time, an unfamiliar roar shattered the previous emptiness, deep, resonating across the land. A shadow passed overhead, and when she turned, she saw a scaled and winged creature unlike any she'd seen before. For a moment, its eyes met hers, fire blazing behind the creature's irises. She screamed as the creature opened its mouth and released a column of flame that tore across the plains of ice, while ashes mixed with snow in its wake. She tried to run, but the fire was faster, and before she knew it, she was engulfed in the flames.

Yet… it did not hurt her. Her eyes widened, and she paused, hesitantly holding her arms out to the fire. It rushed over her body, but instead of burning her like it did everything else, it instead caressed her, coaxing warmth back into her frozen limbs, gently enveloping her and shielding her from the ice. The flames changed from frightening to beautiful, and as she looked through them, she thought she could feel the blazing heat of the summer sun and hear the laughter of children running through fields of wheat and corn. A myriad of colours swirled in the flames, and they seemed to pulse, almost like a heartbeat, as if it were alive. For a long moment, she felt strangely at peace, engulfed in this twisting whirlwind of ice and fire.

The fire quickly passed over her and faded, leaving a now scorched and ash covered field. Yet… the cold had also disappeared with it. Blinking, she glanced around, shielding her eyes away from the sunlight that finally peeked through the previously grey sky. In the ashes she saw new life sprout, small buds of green struggling through the dust left behind by the flames and unfurling its leaves, even as the ice finally melted, turning to water that nourished the new life. A soft breeze passed her, and she thought she could hear her mother's voice, calling to her gently. Turning, she saw her mother's figure approach her, materializing in the sunlight, smiling at her.

"My darling little wolf… take heart and be brave… everything will be okay in the end."

The specter of her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead before fading in the sun. But it's warmth and love stayed with her, while the sun grew warmer and warmer. Hope rose in her heart, so much she thought it would burst as she looked around her and saw the flourishing greenery. Spring had returned.

Lyanna Stark smiled as she turned over in her sleep, one last tear sliding down her cheeks. When she awoke the next day, she would barely remember the dream. But she remembered the feeling of hopefulness it gave her, remembered her mother's voice reminding her to be strong. She would find her brother Benjen later that day and offer to teach him how to ride better, and in time they would become impossibly close. She would soon smile and laugh again without bitterness, and her father would sigh with relief while he recovered from his own loss. Her brother Brandon would again tease her to the point of her chasing him about the castle, with Ned running after them both as he tried to maintain some semblance of order. All would seem to return to normal.

But Lyanna knew deep in her heart that something had changed. She would feel it every time she sat by the fire, staring at the flames, every time a cold chill brushed her skin A new inner resolve and strength filled her. No matter how terrible things were, she was sure that there would be a way out. Even if the world itself was destroyed, new life would form and rebuild. The world will always find a way to continue on.

~(line break)~

_It was said that in his youth, the Silver Prince often visited the ruins of Summerhall, where he had been born amidst the tragedy there, amidst the smoke from the fire and salt from the tears of those suffering… there he would lie under the stars, and then compose songs of such beauty and sadness as to bring one to tears…_

The skies were clear that night. He stared up unblinkingly up at the velvety darkness, the stars reflected in his own dark, indigo eyes.

"Back again, my dear?"

He barely shifted at the voice, having expected it. He turned his head slowly and sat up from where he'd been lying on the ground, brushing a stray leaf from his silvery-gold locks.

"My Lady," he greeted the wizened old woman who approached. She was no more than three-feet tall, with pale skin and even paler hair. Her red eyes might have put some people off, but he was used to her odd appearance by now.

"I am no lady, dear," the woman said softly. He only gave her a quick polite smile, indicating that he did not intend to change his form of address. She did not push the issue either. It had become routine for them, just as it was routine that he stood and held out his arm to support her as she took him on a walk around the ruins.

"Have you new songs for me to hear?" she asked as she led the way to where he had left his harp. He did not question how she knew the location, and only nodded. She smiled at him, and gestured at the instrument, before settling on a fallen beam. "Then sing for me, young prince. After all, I rarely hear another voice in this lonely place."

He obliged, playing the instrument with skill that spoke both of raw talent and hours upon hours of practice. His voice was soft in the night, but still seemed to resonate in the halls. She did not interrupt as he sang song after song, only listened with a smile. He sang of a variety of things… old songs of Valyria, newer songs composed by the court musicians, and then, shyly, some of his own works. It was during one of these last songs that he faltered. He paused, frowning.

The old woman gave a low chuckle. "Are you still stuck on the words?"

"They don't seem quite right," he admitted.

"No, because it is not to me you should sing that to. But your lady-love. One day," she stood and touched his arm with a small, claw-like hand, chuckling at the awkward blush that dusted his cheeks. "Why have you returned?"

"To see you, my lady. You spoke often of your loneliness, and if I can help in any way, well…"

She laughed again. "I am surprised your guards let you come alone."

He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm not completely alone… Ser Barristan and Ser Lewyn accompanied me, and they are not far."

She hummed slightly, gazing at him with a sad look. He did not seem perturbed by it.

"You have questions for me?" she asked eventually. He nodded, hesitating for a moment before speaking in a rush.

"When I met you last time… You spoke of the destruction of the kingdom… a Long Night that will plunge the world into darkness… I… in my dreams I saw it… Please, I beg of you to tell me if there is any way to prevent it!"

She shook her head. "You cannot stop winter from coming, my dear."

He shook his head in frustration. "The Kingdom is more divided than ever. My father… the King… he will only make it worse. We are not ready… please, my lady, there must be a way to save the realm."

She looked at him with almost a beady look. "Do you love this land, young prince? Do you love all the people here, rich and poor, highborn and lowborn?"

"Yes, of course. That is why I want to help…"

"Would you really be strong enough to make the hard decisions though, I wonder. Difficult decisions and sacrifices for the greater good."

He looked confused, and she stepped closer, her face looking older than ever. "The Wheel has rolled on and on for years, even before you ancestors first came to Westeros. And it keeps rolling, crushing those beneath it, and those who fall from it. Winter is not the only thing that will tear through this land… the people will tear each other apart first, before death comes to take them all."

He sucked in a sharp breath, but she pressed on. "It is inevitable, but necessary. Sometimes, things need to be completely broken down in order to be built anew. The poison cannot be purged without destroying the system that still holds and nurtures it. The realm must be torn apart before the wheel can be broken."

A look of anguish passed over his face, and he fell onto the remains of an old wall, his head in his hands. She took pity on him and leaned forward, putting a hand on his head and gently smoothing back his locks of silver-gold hair as a grandmother might have.

"Fear not, young prince. Not all hope will be lost. As I have once told your grandfather, the Prince who was promised will come, and he will bring light to this world again. You will have a key role to play in helping this world move forward, though it may not be what you expect. But in the end, your blood will triumph and usher in a new age, and your descendants shall live on in a golden era."

She smiled sadly as he looked up at her, his indigo eyes cautiously hopeful. "A Golden Era? So the Long Night will end?"

"Yes… yes, it will, a brighter future is on the horizon. But you, my dear, will leave this world before the hands of time can rob you of your strength and youth."

"Oh…" he fell silent at that, looking down at his hands, hands that had not yet lost its childish softness, that were still not that of a man. She was impressed that he did not tremble, and saw his shock melt quickly into steady resolve. When he looked back up at her, there was no fear in his expression, and his eyes burned with the fire aptly put into his House Words.

"Whatever it takes to save the Kingdom, I will do. I am not afraid."

"I know," she murmured. "Remember, the Dragon has three heads, and all three will come together to end the Long Night. Only after that can the people know spring again."

He nodded. "Thank you, my lady. You have given me hope."

She shook her head. "Few would claim hope after hearing such a thing."

Before he could say more, she began to hum. It was an old song, one she had sung to herself so much that she had forgotten its origin.

"Come, my child. Sleep now under the stars, and let not the thoughts of winter stop your repose."

He complied, gently laying his head on her lap and closing his eyes, allowing her to softly lull him to sleep with her song. She felt him relax slowly, his solemn expression melting away into one of innocence in sleep, making him look peaceful and more his true age. She stroked his head gently, tenderly, even after she felt his breath become slow and steady and knew that he would not wake till the morning. Only then could she bring herself to say more.

"I'm so sorry my dear child… you would have been a great King, one of the greatest the realm has ever seen. Aegon V did succeed in birthing his dragon, and by their sacrifice you were born bearing all the best qualities of your House. But the realm is not ready for one such as you, and you, along with so many others, will need to be sacrificed for this world to find peace…"

She was gone when morning broke. He woke to find himself tucked within his cloak, his head cushioned with a small pile of leaves. The ruins of Summerhall looked lonelier than ever in the dawn light, and a sad expression crossed his face as he looked around. If he closed his eyes, he felt as if he could smell smoke and hear the screams and cries of all those that had perished here.

He touched his harp, which was slightly damp with dew. The music master would not be happy with him for potentially damaging the instrument. Still, he could not help but gently run his fingers along the strings, a new melody coming to mind. He hummed along, a new song taking form in his mind.

_The winds of winter will blow, but it will not chase away the dream of spring."_

~(line break)~

In 280AC, Lord Walter Whent announced a grand Tourney at Harrenhal, with the most lavish of prizes. The Tourney attracted some of the greatest knights and lords of the Kingdom. The great houses brought not only their renowned knights and sons, but also their wives and daughters to join in the festivities.

And it was there that the fateful meeting of Ice and Fire took place.

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_**Author's Note: **_

Hello there for anyone who reads the author's notes! Thank you for reading my story so far! For anyone interested, I will probably post a note at the end of my chapters to explain some of my thought processes. Regarding the story itself: I've always been intrigued by the characters of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and what really happened between them, and everyone else all those years ago before and during the rebellion. They're such important figures in the story, and yet only in the last season do we see both of them together. After that, I just have so many questions and ideas to fill the gaps of what happened, and what drove their decisions, that I began to write them down. Eventually, for fun I decided to start putting it into a series of little drabbles that started turning longer and longer.

As mentioned before, this will not exactly be written as a whole chronological story. There will be some flashbacks because I wanted to explore some of the past events never touched on (e.g. Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne's friendship, how he felt about his lost siblings). A lot of it has probably become a little bit AU considering the number of times I've re-edited it to make it fit the story better, or been struck by a random plot bunny and ran with it, so fair warning. I may also not clear on all the details since I haven't read the books, and this was more of a writing exercise about some theories I had about the show right after season 7 ended. I decided to post this now just because a) it's a good exercise to help get me back into writing, and b) if by some miracle any of my random ideas come close to being true, I want there to be a record of it, and c) wanted to post this before season 8 is released and starts influencing what I already have in mind.

TL:DR All of this is just a long and rambly way of saying that there probably will be probably both intentional and unintentional discrepancies with GRRM's story, as well as a lot of speculation, and I am aware of it. Especially since all of this may soon be negated and be put in the realms of AU. Despite this, I hope the story itself will still be interesting for you!

_**Notes for the chapter: **_

So, this oneshot dives a lot into the realms of speculation. Lyanna is 8-9 here, while Rhaegar is 12ish. They aren't actually concurrent events, but I wanted to explore a little of their pasts (and float the future into both of their minds). Here, I start with Lyanna's mother's death. Lyarra Stark died when her children were still young, and I think that kickstarted Lyanna maturing earlier. Benjen really looked to her as a mother figure as well as an older sister figure, and I think it would be partly because for most of his life, she was the one taking care of him. On the other hand, Brandon would become quite protective of Lyanna, because he saw how torn up she was when they lost their mother, and vowed to protect all of his siblings to prevent them from going through this sort of pain again. She has a dream here that foreshadows the coming of the long night, but also how it may be resolved. Since prophetic or symbolic dreams seem to be meaningful in ASOIF, I thought I'd throw on in here.

I also explored a little of Rhaegar when he was younger and his thoughts about the coming Long Night. We know that Rhaegar was quite invested in the prophecy of the Prince who was Promised, and the Long Night. I wanted to find an explanation for why it meant so much to him. The old woman here is the Ghost of Highheart, who was at Summerhall during the tragedy, and said to be a woods witch that was able to see the future. She was the one who predicted that the PWWP would come from Aerys and Rhaella's line, after all. Rhaegar was said to often visit Summerhall, and compose sad songs afterwards. I was hit by the idea that he might have met the woods witch here, who told him about the Long Night first. Who wouldn't be super melancholy and want to write sad music after hearing about the potential destruction of your Kingdom? Also, Barristan Selmy said that he didn't think it was in Rhaegar to be happy, and that a sense of doom hung a shadow over him all his days. He attributed it to Rhaegar being born in tragedy, and I think that is a part of it. But I thought it would be interesting if he had known that he would die young, and would potentially cause the deaths of those he loves, and that also contributed to his sadness, or at least be a part of it. I imagine he also often dreamt of the future, or at least the bleak bits, which added to the stress. He obviously had no clue exactly when or how he would die, and no idea how the future might play out at this point, but it laid the groundwork for the beginning of his secretive nature.

If you have made it to the bottom of this long note, I thank you for taking the time to read my rambly thoughts, as well as the random things my muse came up with. I hope you all have a lovely day!


	2. Beauty

_Disclaimer: Do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones._

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_**Beauty**_

Her first instinctive impression of him was that he was beautiful.

It was an odd train of thought for her. Lyanna Stark was not called the she-wolf for nothing, and was rarely caught sighing over pretty things. All her life, she fought to be the same as her brothers, to be allowed to ride and spar and hunt just like them. Her father disapproved, of course, though he did eventually relent on the riding in exchange for her also learning embroidery and courtly manners expected of a highborn lady.

Lyanna didn't want to just be a lady though. She wanted to be a warrior as well.

Her eldest brother Brandon used to tease her that ladies did not fight. Lyanna would retort that she could wield a needle and wield a sword with equal skill, and if he did not shut up he might find himself at the wrong end of all her sharp implements. Young Benjen had looked rather alarmed, while her second brother Eddard, nicknamed Ned by most of the family, smiled slightly. Stubborn, willful… that's what they always told her.

Perhaps she was. She was wolf-blooded, just like Brandon. She knew what she wanted and would not settle for less.

She was no perfect lady, but no matter how wild her brothers teased her for being unladylike, she still appreciated soft beauty as much as she did harsh steel.

Rhaegar Targaryen had been a perfect blend of both.

It had not been so much his physical beauty, though she was not immune to that either. She doubted anyone could have been entirely immune to his almost inhumanly handsome face, his haunting indigo eyes, framed by those mysterious silvery-gold locks. His figure too was beautiful. He was tall, lean, with proportions that were perfectly balanced to meet every cherished idea of masculine beauty without being over the top. If Robert Baratheon was hard and muscular like his war hammer, Rhaegar Targaryen was graceful and strong like the most finely-crafted Valyrian steel blade.

The first time she saw him was during the banquet on the first night of the tourney. He had walked into the hall without much flare, humbly entering as if he were any other guest, the only difference being that the man at his side was also a Kingsguard, while at his other side his wife Elia Martell also drew eyes with her graceful movements. Unlike the other nobles with their gaudier dress, his clothes, though elegantly tailored, were almost simplistic, with the only embellishment being the three-headed dragon sewn into his dark tunic with darker thread. His face had been solemn, which was not ubexpected given what she'd heard about him. The melancholic prince, they called him.

Yet he drew the eye of almost everyone in the room regardless. There was something about him, Lyanna decided, something in the air around him or the way he carried himself that just drew attention and interest. He exuded strength and charisma, but also gentleness and compassion, acknowledging all that tried to greet him politely and looking each of them in the eye as he replied to their greetings or inquiries, never seeming annoyed at their excessive attention. She saw at one of the younger servants knock down a fork in his nervousness as the Prince neared, but the prince easily caught the utensil, and gave the servant the briefest of reassuring pats while he placed the fork back onto the tray he was holding. It was his attention to such little matters, as if no subject was beneath his notice, which first caught Lyanna's interest.

She tried not to stare too much throughout the meal and tried to ignore the strange fluttering in her chest. Her father had already betrothed her to Robert Baratheon, despite her frequent objections, and it would be unseemly for her to be take any sort of interest other men, even if it was pure academic curiosity. Robert, she knew, was obsessed with her (or obsessed with being Ned's brother, she thought in her more unkind moments). Even now, in between declaring her to be the love of his life, he would flirt openly with everyone from serving maids to other young ladies. She knew Robert had already fathered at least one bastard in the Vale already, though he did not acknowledge the child or its mother. The thought made her blood boil. Not only was it a disrespect to his future wife (she still refused think of herself as fulfilling that role), but it was even more of a disrespect to the poor girl that he'd so irresponsibly dishonoured, and the child he'd fathered.

If this was how Robert treated his own child, his own flesh and blood, she shuddered to think what sort of husband he'd make. Not for the first time, she considered running away from this future marriage. She did not want to subject herself to a life of pretending to be a meek girl playing nursemaid to his ego, constantly waiting for him to give her a scrap of his attention only when he deigned to spare her a thought.

Thankfully, Robert sat with his brothers today, leaving her to sit with her own family. She was able to eat and drink in peace and be more relaxed. Or as relaxed as anyone could be with the Mad King Aerys looking beadily around the room in paranoia.

She told herself it had been her worry over the mad king that made her notice in the first place. She certainly would not admit to having been watching Rhaegar Targaryen himself. He saw his mother lean toward him (and it struck her that his good looks must have come from her, for they looked so alike. Queen Rhaella was a definite beauty beyond words, while King Aerys was a wizened mess of a man), and whisper in his ear. He nodded at her, and briefly spoke to Elia before standing. Lord Whent grinned slightly in satisfaction at seeing this. Once again, the gathered crowd's eyes darted toward the prince, unsure of what was happening. Things became clearer when Lord Whent spoke quietly with some servants, who rushed off and returned with a beautiful and elegant harp, which they placed beside the banquet table. Lyanna felt a thrill of anticipation. She had heard of the Prince's musical prowess but had not thought she would be lucky enough to experience it herself so soon.

Prince Rhaegar sat down in front of the harp and closed his eyes. For a moment, his expression was one of calm, peaceful introspection and tranquility. Then, he began to play, his fingers moving over the strings with such ease and skill it was as if he were one with the instrument, as if his fingers were not plucking out a melody but instead teasing and coaxing the instrument to sing.

The hall grew quieter, all turning to listen as the prince played. It was not any song that Lyanna recognized, but it was hauntingly beautiful. After a few more phrases, he began to sing as well.

Lyanna couldn't help the shivers of emotion that rippled down her spine. She had not heard him speak yet, but his singing voice was entrancing: Smooth, rich, and melodic, with a hint of warm iron in it. It resonated in the hall, seeming to speak directly to her soul. He could reach the high notes and quickly switch to a lower one with equal ease, and all the while his voice never seemed to crack or strain. And the words he sang were almost heartbreakingly beautiful. He sang of the majesty of nature, the frigid winds of the north, the scorching suns of the south, the roiling waves of the ocean, the rigid strength of the earth, the gentle rains of spring, the soft snows of winter… he made everything sound alive, as if nature itself was a mother giving all this to the people, the children of the earth, to weather them and to help them grow and prosper…

She was utterly transfixed. His eyelids fluttered open, though he still looked far-off, seeing something beyond the banquet hall around them. Despite the distance between them, Lyanna thought he looked sad. Not just melancholic but filled with some deep sorrow that he did not allow anyone to see, never allowed to be perceived in any way except through his music. His voice too held a hint of the sadness and yearning, even as he began to sing of great heroes and deeds of honour and nobility. It was as if his soul were crying out for someone, anyone, to understand his true heart…

A most beautiful and complex soul.

"Are you… crying?" a hushed voice interrupted her thoughts. Lyanna blinked, shocked to find that her eyes were indeed watering.

"Onions," she said stubbornly to Benjen. She resolutely turned her back on her youngest brother, and continued to watch and listen as Rhaegar's songs morphed again, singing more heartbreakingly sad songs of loss and tragedy. She could see other women in the room weeping now as well. However, he did not end there, and moved on to a melody that swelled within the hall and rang from the floor to the roof, and his voice filled with strength and conviction she had not previously heard, as he sang of how they were all the people of the world, and they must all work together to make a life of peace and prosperity for all.

His hands finally stilled. There was a pause as the echoes of his last verses reverberated in the hall and though the entranced audience. Then there was a cheer, followed by applause. The Prince stood and bowed politely to them. Despite the adulation from the crowd, Lyanna felt as if he had grown more withdrawn, sucked into whatever melancholic thoughts his music had taken him to.

"You_ are_ crying!" Benjen's voice crowed, breaking Lyanna's reverie once again. It took a moment for her to snap back to reality, feeling as if Rhaegar's song had taken her on a journey far from Harrenhal, to something much bigger than their limited worldview would even comprehend. But her brother's excited voice was sufficient to quickly suck her back to her current surroundings. Reaching up to touch her face, Lyanna realized that Benjen was once again correct. Her breaths were coming in sharp pants, and quiet sobs were threatening to burst from her, while tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes furiously, and turned to glare at Benjen, angry and annoyed at him both for pointing such a thing out, and for interrupting her thoughts and ruining the moment for her.

"Who knew it would take the Silver prince to reduce our Lyanna to crying like a little girl!" Benjen continued, unaware of her growing ire, grinning almost too gleefully.

"I was not crying like a little girl," she retorted, trying to regain her composure.

"My mistake, a proper lady in distress then."

There was nothing for it. She picked up the flagon of wine by Benjen's hand and emptied it over his head. Brandon laughed uproariously at Benjen's cry of dismay while Ned gave her a reproachful look. But Lyanna did not stay to listen to the rest of her sibling's banter. She turned on her heel and proceeded to stalk out of the hall, with as much dignity as possible, intending to return to her quarters and ignore the shocked whispers and sneers of the few other nobles who had witnessed her actions.

As she did though, her eyes met another pair across the hall. The distance made it impossible to see clearly, but she thought even from here she could see amusement and interest in his dark eyes. The smallest hint of a smile played across the corners of his mouth, softening the Silver Prince's features, and his head tilted almost imperceptibly toward her. Her own eyes widened, but she too bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, hoping he could see in her expression just how much she had enjoyed appreciated his songs and how very much she would love to hear more.

She then finished her turn and left the hall, though she thought (or imagined, perhaps foolishly hoped) that she could still feel his eyes on her.

~line break~

Lyanna told herself not to dwell on them, but she could not help herself. From then on, sad, purple eyes seemed to haunt her dreams and even her waking moments, often accompanied by flashes of silver and haunting music. Music that could only come from a deep and beautiful soul. It always left her yearning, wanting to know more, wanting to help ease the sadness in that man's heart…

It was a dangerous thought. Why would Rhaegar Targaryen need her, or anyone else for that matter, to help him? He was strong, he was intelligent, and quite self-sufficient from what she had heard. She reminded herself over and over again that no matter how much he piqued her interest, she should not get too close to him. It was dangerous… it was improper…

Even so, she couldn't help but watch in fascination if she ever caught sight of him during the waits between melees in the following days of the Tourney. Many times she found him sparring with other knights in preparation for the Tourney competitions. He mostly practiced with other Kingsguard members, such as Ser Barristan Selmy or Ser Arthur Dayne, though the morning after the feast, Brandon somehow managed to bump into the Prince while he was training and convinced him to spar. Lyanna had relished this opportunity to watch him up close and for more than just a few seconds, armed with the excuse of waiting for her brother.

It was rather exhilarating to watch, almost as enjoyable as watching his musical performance had been. He handled the steel blade with the same sort of skill as he handled his silver-stringed harp. His strikes were precise and clean, with none of the overly exuberant flourish some of the other young lords liked to employ to show off. Efficient, quick, deadly. His face was more solemn than ever when he practiced, and he did not seem to quite derive pleasure from the activity even when he won a bout, though he grew more determined and focused than ever the few times he lost. She tried not to stare just at him, but her eyes were always inevitably drawn back to him. There was another sort of beauty to the way he sparred and handled the sword, to how he moved and wove around his opponent with subtle but deadly grace that put all but the best warriors to shame. She knew that if he wanted to be, he would be a deadly opponent.

Pretty things and true beauty were completely different, she decided then. Pretty things were nice to look at, but often shallow and fleeting. True beauty went deeper, and was multi-faceted and nuanced, and much more enduring. It could be soft as velvet, and concomitantly as harsh as steel. It could be nurturing, and it could be frightening and dangerous, all at the same time. True beauty was powerful, profound, and so very mesmerizing.

As they finished their bout, which had ended with Brandon declaring that he was much too exhausted to go on and walking off and calling for his squire to help him out of his armor, she lingered momentarily. Rhaegar's own squire had hurriedly run off to get a blacksmith to fix Rhaegar's practice foil, which he had bent during the spar. The prince had turned and noticed her leaning against the fence to the small training area, and gave her a small nod, which she returned. After a moment's pause, he cautiously approached her.

"I had not thought you would have interest in such things, my Lady," he said in a soft, polite voice. It was the first time she'd heard him speak, and she found that she quite liked his speaking voice as well. It was a deep tenor, warm and a touch huskier than his singing voice.

She saw the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, who had stood by during the session, glance over at them curiously. She tried not to blush, knowing that it was not quite the most appropriate thing for her to be doing, considering she did not even have another companion with her.

"I… was looking for my brother. I did not want to interrupt, my lord," she said quickly. "Brandon doesn't like it when people interrupt unless he is the one doing the interrupting."

His eyebrow rose slightly at that, and she saw once again that his face had softened, almost as if he was about to smile. Something within her wanted to push him a little further, so that the smile would fully blossom.

"Though I am sorry if he did not put up much of a fight against you. I must imagine it would be boring to spar with him when you have the Sword of the Morning available at all times. I must thank you for humouring and putting up with him and giving the rest of us a moment's respite from his usual dramatics."

He blinked in surprise, and she wanted to kick herself for speaking out of turn. Hadn't her father taught her to never speak to royalty unless they spoke to you first? Especially ones as dangerous as the Targaryens?

But then she saw that the corners of his lips had lifted ever so slightly, and her breath caught. It had been fleeting, but it had been there. A small smile, but clearer and wider than the one he'd worn the night of the banquet, and one that stayed her for days to come. He had looked so much brighter more handsome when he smiled, and she wanted to treasure the image forever.

"Then I must assure you that your brother was a most admirable opponent, and I learnt much from training with him, my lady."

He gave her a slight nod again before turning to leave. She couldn't let him go without saying one last thing.

"My lord, I… I truly enjoyed your songs last night," she called out earnestly, "Though I'm curious as to their titles since I had not heard them before."

He turned back to her, surprised at her query, and once more that small smile crossed his face. "I am honoured to hear that, my lady. They were a few songs of my own creation, and my mother had wanted to hear them… Unfortunately, they do not yet have titles, but I am glad you enjoyed them nonetheless."

She was speechless in surprise. She had heard that the Prince was a scholar and a musician but had not thought he liked to write his own music. She couldn't ask any more however, for if they spoke any longer someone else might see and talk might begin. So she only bowed her head to him slightly as he turned again to go. The exchange had been so quick no one else other than Ser Arthur had noticed, and she could feel the other knight giving her curious looks. At that moment, however, Brandon had reappeared. After speaking and bowing once to Rhaegar, he had rushed over to her.

"Hey Lya! Heard from the Prince that you had come looking for me. I'm guessing father wants us?"

She wandered back toward their tent with Brandon, though she couldn't help but sneak one last glance at the Dragon Prince. He did not look at her again, being engrossed in a conversation with Arthur Dayne. She tried not to feel disappointed.

~line break~

Lyanna mentally slapped herself each time she caught herself reflecting on their brief exchange after that, as it was a dangerous path to tread. She was afraid to think too deeply about it, as if her heart knew unconsciously that if she allowed herself to acknowledge the part of her that had begun to foster fondness for the Silver Prince, she would find herself going down a course with no return. But thoughts of him kept sneaking up on her: when she was watching other knights spar, or heard another musician play, she would almost subconsciously compare their skill and technique to Rhaegar's. When she looked up at the evening sky, she would think that the dark indigo was almost the same as his soulful eyes. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but admit to herself that Rhaegar Targaryen was perhaps the most beautiful and intriguing being she had ever met, and she desperately wanted to know more about him.

She also did not miss the fact that he sang every night after that first one, unprompted by anyone else.

* * *

_**Author's notes:**_

This drabble was originally written more like a character study. I've tried to edit it to have a little more plot, but I was mostly experimenting with writing in this style, and though I'm not 100% happy with the result, but thought I'd post this anyways. The next one will hopefully be more plot oriented!

_**Chapter Notes:**_

So, I briefly looked up how the Tourney went down in terms of timeline, and it seems that only five days were dedicated to the jousting, which both Rhaegar and Brandon participated in. there were lots of other competitions that went on, and not everyone joined in everything, so I assumed there might have been some informal sparring and training going on. I added an earlier interaction between Rhaegar and Lyanna here. I don't think they fell in love at first sight, though they both intrigued each other. We that Lyanna cried when she heard him sing the first time, and also poured wine on Benjen after he laughed at her for it. Rhaegar probably noticed that, since it wouldn't be an inconspicuous event, and I think he was amused by it, and also admired her spunk. I also added a small interaction between Rhaegar and Brandon here. Brandon was pretty pissed about Rhaegar giving her the crown of roses, and later when he thought he'd kidnapped her. In my imagination, he had thought that they'd built a rapport through the sparring (though Lyanna didn't witness that part), and was thus even more offended and disappointed by the later actions of someone he thought could be a friend.


	3. Beneath the Calm

_I am still recovering from a terrible cold, so apologies if there are more spelling and grammar mistakes than usual._

* * *

**Beneath the Calm**

Rhaegar had not realized that he had dazed off until Arthur stomped on his foot under the table. He turned to glare at his friend, but Arthur just responded with a look of stubbornly feigned innocence.

His father was rambling on and on again, his mad tirade having gone on for the last fifteen minutes. Rhaegar remained resolutely blank-faced as he turned his attention back to Aerys, trying not to let his mind wander again to the recent treatise he had read about a new method of crop rotation (they could potentially increase the grain production three-fold, which would quell some of the unrest in the smaller, poorer villages who were hard-hit by bad harvests), or to intriguing grey eyes and the scent of winter roses…

"… And all of them preparing their weapons… right under my nose! As if they think I cannot see them…"

He tried hard not to frown. His father's paranoia had grown exponentially worse in the past few years. Everywhere he looked now, he believed that assassin's knives followed him and treacherous servants were trying to poison him.

"Your Grace, I am sure that even if any of them attempted something, we could stop them easily immediately," Ser Barristan Selmy said evenly. Aerys's eyes narrowed at the knight, but the Kingsguard did not flinch. He had been the one to drag Aerys out of the dungeons of Dunskendale after all, and Aerys trusted him (as much as his paranoia allowed him to trust in any case) if no one else.

"Ser Barristan is right, father," Rhaegar spoke up. "No one would be foolish enough to try and harm us here. Besides, it is a tourney, and surely you cannot fault the men for practicing?"

His father's gaze turned to him, and he forced himself not to react as those dark, suspicious eyes focused on him. He knew what his father was thinking. Aerys was paranoid about the nature of this Tourney, believing that Rhaegar had funded the event in an attempt to gather all the lords together and plan a coup. Rhaegar wasn't sure how his father came to this conclusion, but was unsurprised that this was why he had decided to suddenly come to Harrenhal. He had often made jabs about how Lord Whent must have been a fool to host such a lavish tourney that was surely beyond his means, but Rhaegar never rose to the bait, always answering reasonably that Lord Whent had had a large harvest last year and probably wanted to celebrate that, and show off what fine knights his sons had turned into.

"Hmph, I suppose. But we have only six Kingsguard right now, and I want that last spot filled as quickly as possible to be absolutely safe," Aerys said in response to Ser Barristan. The other knight just bowed his head politely in understanding.

At last, Aerys talked himself out and dismissed most of them, though demanded that Barristan remain behind. Rhaegar was glad to leave with Arthur.

The two made their way past all the Tourney tents, out of the main grounds of Harrenhall, walking past idyllic gardens, woodlands, and fields until they stood on an empty meadow quite a ways away. From here, the sounds of the tourney festivities was a mere murmur, easily drowned out by the wind as it rustled through the grasses. Above them, the sky was a clear blue, with only a few wisps of cloud that fluttered past almost lazily, occasionally punctuated by the darker shapes of flying birds, adding to the tranquil scene before them. One that was in sharp contrast to the turmoil that simmered amongst the people below.

"Well, I am sure to be here now and not back there," Arthur said at last, breaking the silence. When Rhaegar continued to stare off into the sunlit fields, he nudged him.

"Care to share your latest broody thoughts?"

"I do not brood," Rhaegar said, annoyed and shaken out of his reverie. Arthur just smirked.

"My mistake, _deep contemplations_, then," he amended with exaggerated contrition, even adding a small bow.

Despite himself, Rhaegar couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face. Arthur was one of the few people who could break through the walls that he had built up around himself and make him smile and laugh. Perhaps it helped that they had practically grown up together. He was his oldest, closest, and most trusted friend, a brother in all but blood. If he could not break through his mask, who could?

(He tried not to think of the most recent person who had managed to wrest a smile from him against his will.)

"Yes well, one of us has to use our brains rather than brawn," he replied lightly, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling wider when Arthur gave him an exaggeratedly affronted look. But Arthur also seemed pleased to see him smile, having been trying hard to wrestle one out of him for the past few days. Their lighthearted moment did not last long, however, as his earlier thoughts plagued his mind again. Arthur's expression also grew serious, sensing his friend's return to former concerns

"It's getting worse, isn't it? Your father's paranoia…"

"You see him all the time… he fears everyone now, his servants, his guards, his own family…"

Arthur nodded. "I know. He still suspects you're trying to gather an army to overthrow him."

Rhaegar said nothing. He could not admit that the thought of removing Aerys forcibly from the throne had never crossed his mind before. He knew of his father's vices, his cruelty, his madness…. It made his blood boil to think of all the suffering that man has already caused and likely would continue to cause as long as he was still alive. Moreover, the longer he sat on the throne, the more divided he made the Kingdom, and the more fractured everyone was. There was no time for this sort of thing right now…

And yet, he could not openly oppose Aerys. The man was still his father, even if Rhaegar had long since stopped considering him that in any sense of the word except by law. Any such action would probably be the match that ignited the explosion, the catalyst to release the pent-up tensions at court and escalate the Kingdom into civil war, and civil war was almost never good for any Kingdom. He was not blind, he knew of the plots and conspiracies that lay hidden beneath the surface of the other lords' polite smiles. He knew at least half the Kingdom would declare for him if he made any hints of wanting to remove Aerys.

But it was the other half that would be the issue. You could win with half the Kingdom with you, but you could not rule with half against you. And he had no idea how many of those other ambivalent lords thought. And those that had much to gain from keeping Aerys on the throne would always call him a usurper, a son who murdered his own father, betrayed his kingdom, for his own gain…

As much as he might have hated Aerys, he could never be the one to strike him down, not with force, even if the last shred of filial care for his father that still lingered within him would have allowed it. Patricide, regicide, treason… those are things one could never dissociate themselves from, no matter how justified. That sort of victory would always be tainted, and as violence begets more violence, the cycle of betrayal and more bloodshed would likely be the result. There would be no peace, only more innocent lives lost.

No, the idea of personally overthrowing Aerys had been dismissed almost as quickly as it had come to mind. He could never be the one to make an overt move. But something had to be done, and done soon… he needed a non-violent way to remove his father from the throne, and one that had the support of many of the other houses, and one where they could move together to take action.

"You know that was never my intention at this Tourney," he replied quietly to Arthur at last. Arthur grinned.

"Of course. You don't need to explain yourself again, especially to me. Both Oswell and I were well-aware of the need for a council."

He nodded in thanks. "Let us return, we have been gone far too long and I am sure there are eyes and ears searching for us already."

Indeed. As they returned, they saw Ser Gerold Hightower standing still near the edges of the rows of tents, surreptitiously waiting. He gave them a nod, his expression showing the faintest hints of relief before he called out an exaggerated greeting, trying to look as if he had not been looking for them. They greeted him politely, and made banal small talk while Ser Gerold subtly led them back through the crowds toward the secluded area set aside for the Royal guests. At last, when he seemed sure that there were no ears about, he leant closer to Rhaegar and whispered, "Princess Elia wishes to see you, my lord."

He blinked in surprise. Elia had told him that morning she had not been feeling well and wanted to rest undisturbed. He had left her in the care of Arthur's sister Ashara and was not expecting to see her until their noon meal at the earliest.

"I shall go find her at once," he said, nodding to Ser Gerold. The other knight nodded, before walking off. He glanced at Arthur, who shrugged, equally as mystified, before making his way to their shared tent. Ashara came out just as he approached, and gave him a smile.

"Go on in. She's feeling better now, I think."

Concern went through him as he hurried through the tent flap. Arthur stayed outside, giving them privacy while also guarding them.

Elia was sitting on their bed, her eyes staring at her fingers in her lap. He gave her a quick cursory glance, noting with relief that she did not seem injured in any way. However, she did not look up as he entered, and he felt the worry rise up anew.

"Elia?"

"Hello, Rhae," she whispered. He gingerly sat beside her, noting how her shoulders were tense and her lips pressed together, and her face was pale. If this was her 'better', he worried for what she had been like before.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt or sick? Shall I call a maester-"

"No!" she said, interrupting him abruptly. She looked up at last, and he saw that her eyes were slightly red. She must have been crying. He kicked himself for not noticing earlier, not being there for her. They may not have loved each other as a husband and wife should, but she was still a good friend to him.

"Not the maester," she said more quietly, and sighed. "I already know what's wrong with me."

He wasn't sure what to say, but thankfully, she continued.

"My monthlies… they've come again…"

"Oh…" understanding flooded through him, and tentatively, he placed a hand on his shoulder. She leaned against his side, allowing him to put his arm around her and give her that small degree of comfort. But he knew it did little to heal the sadness in her heart.

It was perhaps no secret that Elia had always been frail. It had not been easy for her to carry their daughter to term, and her birth had left her bedridden and weak for ages afterwards. It was always a long shot that she could have another child.

"I'm sorry… I know you had hoped that this time it was going to work…" her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I know this is perhaps inappropriate," he murmured, "but… I am in truth a little relieved…"

"How can you be?" she said sadly. "That is the third time I have failed to get with child."

He gave her shoulder a small squeeze. "I know. But… you must remember what the maester at Dragonstone told you… told us… after Rhaenys was born?"

Elia nodded. She did remember. The words haunted her for weeks and months, and she hadn't wanted to believe it.

But the maester had been grim and firm. She would likely not be able to bear another child. Her body was not strong enough for it, and even if she was somehow able to bring one to term, the birth may well kill her. Rhaegar had immediately resolved not to have any more children, to end all marital relations. It would not be much of a change for them anyways, considering the only times they had ever slept together was to conceive Rhaenys.

However, her own heart had grown cold at the idea. It wasn't as if she had enjoyed martial relations. In truth, though he had been sweet and attentive, and always tried his very best to make it as comfortable and enjoyable for her as possible, she still never looked forward to it. It was not unpleasant, and in fact it was often quite pleasurable, but she knew it was something she would never truly be able to enjoy…. That fact had always saddened him, and she had always felt slightly guilty. After all, it wasn't his fault that marital relations always felt like a duty rather than a desire to her.

It had felt worth it, though, when she first held Rhaenys in her arms. Despite the months of pain and exhaustion, the traumatic birth, their baby girl had been beautiful and she had loved her immediately with all her heart.

And yet, she knew it was not enough. Westeros would not accept a woman on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys would never be allowed to have the crown, and Rhaegar needed a son. Elia would never admit it, but she feared the Mad King more than anyone else. It was well known that he held onto his family's power over the throne with every fiber of his being. She didn't want to even contemplate what Aerys would do to her if she could not provide Rhaegar an heir. So no matter how difficult, she knew she had to keep trying.

It had taken much coaxing and cajoling and reassurances of this truly being what she wanted, and white lies about how she was feeling much stronger and that perhaps the Maesters were just being paranoid and can't possibly know as much about a woman's body as herself, but she finally made him agree to try and get her with child again. Though he didn't completely believe her about the lack of danger, she was steadfast.

"_Yes, I may die in childbirth… but I may also die from your father's wrath. And at the moment, I would much rather die from the former than the latter."_

He had hated that and promised to find the best maesters and midwives for her if she was to become pregnant. She only told him that she had felt healthier than ever lately, and didn't think it would be a problem. It was a small white lie, but it was the only thing that would convince him to try. She herself did not fear the pain, or the possibility of death. She felt it would be worth it to bring another life into this world. If she gave birth and died, well… was surely less terrible than dying by Aerys's hand. And if she could somehow birth a son and live through it, then she would be safe, and she would be _free _at last.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the gods did not hear her pleas, or were not particularly inclined to help her. Every time her monthlies came, she felt like a shard of ice was piercing her heart, knowing that it had failed again, and that her hope for freedom would continue to be delayed. This month, she had been so hopeful, since she had been late. But fate was not on her side, and her monthlies had come again.

She wanted to cry again, but her tears had all been used up that morning. But her throat still squeezed slightly as he rubbed her arm soothingly.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he said gently. "And don't worry about my father. I will do everything I can to protect you from him."

She smiled weakly. It was a nice gesture, and she had no doubt he would try. She just feared that even his best would not be enough where the Mad King was concerned.

"Did he ask you about it during the meeting today?" she asked him.

He shrugged, unwilling to answer. She knew that was a yes. Aerys had not made it a secret that he didn't think her good enough for his son. He'd called Rhaenys too 'Dornish' and often made snide remarks about the continued lack of a male heir to both of them. It was a blessing that Rhaegar had moved them to Dragonstone so early on in their marriage to avoid him, but it was still impossible to entirely be free from him.

"Does my mother know?" he asked her instead.

"Yes… she was very kind…" she looked down. Queen Rhaella of all people probably understood better than anyone Elia's fears. She had been on the receiving end of Aerys's abuse for years for not being able to give him any more healthy children. Prince Viserys's birth had been seen as a miracle, and Aerys was so paranoid about his second son's life that even Elia had barely ever seen him.

"Your Father is sending her back to King's Landing though. Did you know?" she asked.

Rhaegar sighed. "Yes. She told me last night. I think it may be better for her, now that my father has decided to attend the Tourney."

Elia hummed in agreement. She wished that she too could return to King's Landing, or even better, Dragonstone. Or Dorne. How she longed for the familiar sun-kissed lands of her home every day. But she was steadfast in her duty. She was not going to run. She couldn't run. Not yet. Not until she had resolved things here.

"Have you ever thought… that we should give up?" she said, hesitantly.

"On having a son? I thought that I agreed to that long ago. Considering my brother is healthy, I don't think it's really a problem anymore if I don't have a male heir."

She shook her head. He was saying that to reassure her, and they both knew it. Viserys was mostly a sweet boy, but he had his moments of violent tantrums that concerned them both. There was a little too much of his father in him. But she knew Rhaegar was hopeful that this was just a phase. The boy was still so young, and it was too early to say for sure how he would turn out. Elia wasn't as optimistic.

"No, not on that. You need an heir, and you know it Rhae. And even if you have all the support of the people, there is no way you can change their minds about letting Rhaenys be your heir so quickly. The Dance of Dragons has proven that."

He said nothing, just gave her a probing look, waiting for her to explain. She took a deep breath.

"I mean give up on us… on our marriage."

He drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide with shock she would suggest such a thing. She gave him a pained smile.

"We both know that our marriage will never be more than just two people thrown together and making do. I truly appreciate all your kindness and care for me, and I do care about you too. You are one of my best friends now, and I hope I am to you as well… but we can never be more than that to each other. We both know that I cannot give you what you want and need… and you cannot be what I want and need. You deserve someone better, someone who can love you wholly in every way. We both deserve better."

He lowered his eyes. "I know you want to go home. And I wish to all the gods I can give that to you. But the faith will not allow me to annul our marriage, and I don't know what my father will do to you or Dorne even if we could."

Elia knew that. It wasn't the first time they had had a conversation about annulment. But they had already consummated their marriage… the faith would not easily agree to ending it, even if it was royalty asking.

"Forget about your father for a moment. I was just thinking that High Septon Maynard may agree to it… if… if it was on the grounds of my being barren."

His eyes widened. "But I thought you said… and what about Rhaenys…?"

"It's not uncommon for a traumatic birth to cause it to happen. And you being the crown prince would need a son. Perhaps… perhaps it would be better for you to find a woman who can give you one, and I think he will be able to understand that," she finished in a rush.

"Elia please," he held up a hand, stopping her. His brows were furrowed, and she could see the stress clearly in the hunch of his shoulders. "It is too dangerous. We _can't_ just forget about my father, or how it will look to the rest of the Kingdom. He will hurt you if he heard that, and I can't let that him do that…"

She sighed, having known that he would not be able to see it her way. But she had thought a lot about it that morning during her grief at finding out she was once again not pregnant. It seemed to make a lot more sense, and would solve most of their problems. But he had a point with the mad king.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, seeing her disappointment. "I…. I need to think about it. There is too much happening right now and…"

"I understand," she said softly. "You have to speak to the other lords and oversee the Tourney."

He nodded, though still looked guilty and troubled. She sat back, thoughtful. Perhaps it had been too early to suggest this. They had to focus on the goal of the Tourney, after all. If there was a way to remove Aerys from the throne, then her safety would no longer be in jeopardy. Perhaps then, all of this could be resolved peacefully.

As if their thoughts were prophetic, Arthur suddenly cleared his throat from outside. "Rhaegar, are you in there still?"

"What is it?" he called out.

"Lord Whent wants to talk to you. He says it's important."

He sighed but forced himself to revert back to his ordinary cool exterior. "I'm sorry Elia, I should speak to him."

"No, don't apologize. I understand completely. You know you don't need to explain yourself to me."

He gave her a soft look at that. "I know. Hopefully this will not take too long, and I will come find you as soon as I am able, if you want me here."

She hesitated, and then nodded. "I would like that. Thank you."

He gave her shoulder one last comforting squeeze and then stood, his dutiful prince's demeanor shifting firmly back into place. Ser Oswell was outside, ready to escort him to meet his brother. He gave her a small bow, before they departed.

Ashara peeked inside. "Elia? Is everything okay?"

She nodded, grateful that her friend hadn't been listening in on their conversation. Ashara might be her best friend, but there were some things she still preferred to keep to herself for the time being. She knew that Ashara would want to talk to her about it, but she wasn't ready.

"Can we take a walk? I think I need some fresh air."

Ashara exchanged a look with her brother. Elia frowned. "Is my face that bad?"

"Not at all," Ashara said quickly. "I just thought…"

"I'm fine, Ash... I promise… some air will do me good."

Ashara nodded then, and gave her brother a look. Arthur followed them a few paces behind, giving them privacy, but also protective. It was good that King Aerys had brought other Kingsguard to fulfill his guard duties, leaving Arthur and Ser Oswell mostly free to move about as Rhaegar and Elia's 'guards'.

The other nobles gave her nods and bows as she passed, and many greeted her politely. She smiled back, though she knew it was distant. Her health had made her public appearances few and far in between, and many of them did not know much about her. And it was just as well since she didn't know many of them well either. Ashara kept a steady stream of whispers in her ear, telling her the names of unfamiliar faces. Most of them passed by quickly, but one pair stood out, a young man and young woman, both fair and dark-haired, and unlike anyone she'd ever seen before.

She first saw them when they had taken a turn into the gardens near the castle. There were fewer people here, as most were gathered to watch the archery contest that would be starting soon. But the two were more conspicuous, likely because they were arguing quietly but quite fiercely, complete with angry gestures. However, they paused as they heard them approach, and quickly tried to school their expressions.

"Princess Elia," the man greeted with a bow, and then looked behind her. "Ser Arthur, Lady Ashara."

"That's Brandon Stark, heir of Winterfell and the North," Ashara whispered quickly to her. Elia wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but her friend's voice sounded a touch more rushed than normal. She brushed it off and gave the pair a polite smile.

"Lord Brandon," she greeted with a nod. "I do not believe we have ever met…"

"No, and it is an honour," he said with a rather roguish smile. Brandon Stark was exactly as she'd always imagined the Northmen to be: tall, dark-haired, with a touch of wildness to their demeanor. She always thought it would take wolf-like ferocity to tame the harsher North, and he seemed to embody that perfectly. The wild wolf, she recalled others calling him.

Her eyes flickered to the young woman with him. She resembled him greatly, with the same dark hair and fair skin. Elia couldn't help but notice that she had a wild beauty about her, in the northern angles of her face, her strong and lean yet still womanly figure, and lively air. It spoke of physical prowess that was not common amongst normal court ladies, but gave her a refreshing presence. Her silvery grey eyes, which had been wide when they first saw Elia's group, were now rather guarded, and though she tried her best to smile politely, she was a little less practiced at hiding her emotions than Brandon had been. Elia was sure she sensed some irritation still within her, likely a residual of her earlier argument.

Brandon noticed Elia's look, and gestured at his companion. "This is my younger sister, Lyanna."

Lyanna curtsied. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess Elia, Lady Ashara, Ser Arthur."

Her voice was steady, and she did not seem cowed, nor inclined to use fake pleasantries and empty compliments as some of the other nobles had, and none of the coy demureness Elia had come to expect from southern ladies. Elia found it refreshing to finally meet someone who would speak to her with no ulterior motives, though Lyanna Stark was obviously still quite guarded.

"Well, it's not as if we hadn't seen each other before," Arthur said to Lyanna with a slight smile. "And to be honest, we're not too worried about formalities, so you can speak with us openly, my Lady."

Elia raised an eyebrow. Lyanna had met Arthur before? When would that have been?

Lyanna managed a more genuine smile at Arthur's casual tone and relaxed a little. Brandon stepped forward.

"What brings all of you here right now?"

"We are merely admiring the gardens," Elia replied. "I was not feeling well this morning, and I thought some fresh air was in order."

"What a coincidence, so were we," Brandon said lightly. Elia caught Lyanna's slightly annoyed look to her brother, whose attempt to cover up their argument was quite weak. But Elia couldn't help but press her lips together in amusement.

"Would you like to join us?" Ashara spoke up. Elia blinked, surprised at her statement. Ashara quickly caught herself as well, and quickly added, "That is, if Princess Elia is fine with it."

Elia nodded, giving her friend a cursory look. She seemed a little less composed than usual, and there was the slightest flush in her cheeks. Her eyes were quite focused on Brandon Stark, and it did not take a genius to figure out what was happening.

"I do not mind," Elia replied as she turned her attention back to the Starks. "Please join us, Lord Brandon. I would like to get to know you and Lady Lyanna better now while I have the chance. After all, it may be difficult for me to ever travel to see you in the North, and I know coming down south is quite the journey for you."

Brandon bowed again and smiled charmingly. Elia wondered if it was directed at her friend, but shook her head and turned her attention back to Lyanna. The other woman was looking slightly uncomfortable at this turn of events, but graciously joined their party as they continued to walk through the gardens. Elia couldn't help but ask them about the North, and felt a twinge of envy as Lyanna admitted to being able to ride across the moors on horseback for hours, feeling the cool wind in her hair and against her face. It was something Elia's health would never allow her to do. Then, after a moment's hesitation, Lyanna tentatively asked them about life in the South.

"Of course, Dorne is very different from the North," she said, smiling nostalgically as she thought of their home. "It's very warm, even more so than King's Landing, and many more varieties of fruits and flowers grow there. We may not have wild moors or forests the snows of the far north, but we have deserts and red cliffs and southern sea."

"I always thought father was lying when he spoke about snow until I saw it for myself in King's Landing. We really don't see it that far south," Arthur chimed in, and Ashara nodded in agreement.

"Dorne sounds lovely," Lyanna said, eyes wide and an adventurous glint in her eyes. "I would like to be able to see it… one day."

Elia was quiet. Speaking of Dorne made the familiar homesickness rise up within her again. She just listened quietly as Ashara described the Crownlands, with Arthur interjecting sometimes. It occurred to her that Lyanna was more relaxed and open with Ashara than with her. Not that she was ever impolite, but just a little stilted. Elia wondered if she was doing something to make her uncomfortable, but couldn't fathom what it could be.

It was made worse as Ashara's attention seemed to become more and more diverted by Brandon Stark. Lyanna looked at Elia awkwardly, and she smiled to try and put the younger woman more at ease.

"Do not be afraid of me," she murmured. "I know my position might seem intimidating, but I really am just a normal woman, like you."

"It's not that," Lyanna started, but stopped herself. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just out of sorts after that argument with Brandon."

"Ah, so it _was_ an argument?" Elia asked. Lyanna flushed at her slip, and Elia laughed lightly.

"Do not worry. It is only natural that siblings argue. The Seven knows how many furious ones I have had with my brothers before as well, even about the most banal things. It must not be easy, being the only girl in a family of boys."

Lyanna nodded empathetically. "Were your brothers also no help at the first sign of anything slightly feminine?"

Elia blinked, and then laughed quietly. "Yes, but I had my mother to help back me up…"

She trailed off, suddenly remembering that Lord Rickard Stark's wife had passed away years ago, likely when Lyanna was still a young girl. She made to apologize, but Lyanna resolutely moved pass it, smiling as if nothing was amiss.

"Well, they are the same as my brothers then. Brandon always has an excuse, Ned is never really around enough and too quiet to be of much help, and Benjen was and still is too immature. Even if all I'm asking is for them to comment on the colour of a handkerchief."

Elia just smiled. Despite Lyanna's apparent exasperation, she could sense fondness there for all her brothers.

"We were just surprised, you know, at you actually asking us for an opinion about that," Brandon Stark protested, "Considering how unladylike you usually are. After all, weren't you the one who dumped wine on Benjen just last night?"

Lyanna glared at her brother. Elia tried to suppress her own giggles. She had remembered the event, for it had caused a bit of a stir. No one could be sure what made the young lady sudden turn and do something so unexpected and dramatic at the end of the banquet, but Elia had quite admired her gumption. And she knew Rhaegar had as well, considering he actually smiled and let out a small chuckle. He smiled and laughed so rarely that it had truly shocked her for a moment, thinking she'd just imagined it. But the amusement that had remained in his eyes had been impossible to miss.

Arthur laughed a little as well. "It was a rather dramatic scene. One cannot say you are not memorable now, my Lady," he gave Lyanna an amused smile as she looked more embarrassed. "But don't worry about what the rest of the court thinks… they will find a reason to be scandalized by anything, while I quite enjoyed the fresh entertainment it provided."

Brandon guffawed at Arthur's words, and Lyanna turned red. Elia placed a hand on her arm to hold her back from an angry tirade, trying to reassure her. "Don't worry about Arthur, Lady Lyanna. He's always been a bit sarcastic with people he considers friends, and he likely thinks of you and your brother as good humoured people. He should probably learn to hold back a little before mouthing off at will," she added with a small stern look at the other knight, who bowed his head in surrender. Turning back to Lyanna, she smiled more widely. "Besides, I think he's just jealous. He's been telling all manner of jokes since we left King's Landing for the Tourney and barely made Rhaegar smile three times, while you managed to get a smile and laugh out of him with one action last night."

"Oh," Lyanna's eyes widened, and for some reason she seemed more embarrassed. "The Prince was not… offended?"

"No, he was also amused like Arthur and your brother here. Men… they're always the same, aren't they? Finding entertainment in such childish things."

It was a mocking generalization meant to put Lyanna at ease, but for some reason, the Northern girl did not calm. In fact, she seemed more distracted, and only made a non-committal sound of agreement, while a light dusting of pink remained in her cheeks. Frowning, Elia thought back to Lyanna's question, and recalled the same breathless rush that Ashara had also had in her voice when speaking to Brandon Stark.

Elia had to school her features as an inkling of suspicion crossed her mind. Lyanna had met Arthur once before… but Arthur had spent most of his time thus far with Rhaegar… does that mean the two have spoken before? Was there something else there?

She asked one more subtly probing question. "Do you enjoy music, Lady Lyanna?"

The question caught the Northern Girl by surprise. She answered cautiously, but as Elia gently discussed the merits of different musical styles, she seemed to calm and let her guard down a little, admitting that she had rarely listened to songs from the South music prior coming to Harrenhal.

"Then, I hope Rhaegar's performance last night was a satisfactory introduction for you, even if he did not play the most conventional of songs."

"Oh yes! It was very lovely, and I quite liked the fact that he played his own compositions!"

Elia pressed her lips together, suppressing a knowing smile at the rush of excitement in the other's voice, and the sparkle in her eyes. Thankfully, Arthur, Brandon, and Ashara were otherwise engaged in a conversation of their own and did not hear a word she'd said. But Elia's mind was already whirling ahead. This Lyanna Stark obviously admired Rhaegar, enough to inquire about his songs despite being unfamiliar with southern styles of music, and it seemed that he potentially returned the admiration. It was not much to go on, but it was something, a start.

It was perhaps too early for her to conclude anything, and of course she did not yet know much of Rhaegar's feelings, but Elia couldn't quash the tiny spark of hope in her chest. She thought for a moment she could almost smell the sweet scent of the Water Gardens again, taste a hint of freedom and home in the air. It was perhaps wrong of her to hope this northern girl could be the solution to her problems, but she could not help herself. Her mind had already begun to turn with possibility.

Besides, it was not as if she was truly being malicious. If the two really admired each other, then surely there was nothing wrong with her prodding things along. After all, she would be solving several problems at the same time, including her own. Still, she knew that she first had to determine what Rhaegar thought. That would probably be the larger hurdle.

She knew Rhaegar was nothing if not responsible. Even if he were unhappy in his marriage with her, he would never admit it out loud, and would not go back on it without a very good reason. Another woman who could give him an heir, give the realm a desperately needed heir, perhaps would be enough for him to finally relent and annul their marriage and remarry. And if he loved that girl, and she loved him, then all the better for everyone involved.

Elia was old enough to remember the Tragedy of Summerhall, old enough to remember hearing of how devastating a loss it had been, with the only beacon of light being that the then Princess Rhaella had given birth to her and Aerys's first son. She knew that many had whispered that Rhaegar had been born in tragedy, and thus that it wasn't in him to be happy.

She had always felt pity for the dragon prince, and she had hoped he would find some happiness one day. But she had known from the beginning that it wouldn't be with her.

But perhaps… perhaps there was still another way, a way for all three of them to find their own happiness. Perhaps, she could make her dream of putting all of this behind her and going back to Dorne come true.

And as she talked more and more to Lyanna Stark, and found a woman of strong will and vivacious spirit beneath the wild beauty, the small spark of hope bloomed into a small flame.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

Sorry there is still no RxL interaction here… I just wanted to touch on some issues before we jump into their first proper conversation. This is set just before Lyanna joins the joust to fight for Howland's honor. The argument she'd had with Brandon was over her asking Brandon to teach the bullies a lesson, and Brandon refusing, not wanting to join the listing before the tougher components, and chastising her for wanting to use such a violent solution. The next chapter will be Knight of the Laughing Tree.

_**Now for the (very) Long and rambly Chapter's notes:**_

First of all, I don't know why, but Arthur Dayne just strikes me as someone who's quite snarky in private, though can be very formal and proper in public. Maybe it's just the way he said that line he said to Ned at the tower of joy *shrugs* I have to say, I _really _enjoyed writing snarky!Arthur, especially when off-set by Rhaegar's deadpanned comments, so expect to see more of him.

Secondly, I want to preface by saying I hate the trope of two women fighting over a guy, or getting jealous and mad at each other. In my imagination, I like to think that despite the complex situation, most of the people intimately involved were friendly with one another and well aware of what was happening. I just feel like Elia knew about Lyanna and was fine with it, since she never said a word about what happened even after Rhaegar had died, despite everyone looking to her for answers. Also, she was also apparently fine with them annulling their marriage in Dorne, and having Rhaegar and Lyanna marry there. As well, I just couldn't see how someone as responsible and mindful of duty as Rhaegar would have considered eloping with someone else (knowing the scandal it would cause) without sure belief that Elia was okay with it, or even endorsed it. He seems more like the type who, even if he was really unhappy, would just grit his deal with it and put his desires aside for the sake of duty. After all, that's why his actions shocked so many people in the first place. So TL:DR I think Elia knew and supported the whole Lyanna situation. More detailed explanations below, if you care to read!

In this chapter, I first explored more of Rhaegar and Elia's current thoughts on their marriage, and floated the idea of annulment in both of their minds. I had first tried to justify how their annulment was even possible by trying to fit in what I had heard was book canon: the faith will only annul your marriage if it was unconsummated, leading me to theorize that both Rhaenys and Aegon that we thought were their kids were actually adopted. I later dropped the idea, because I don't think this is what the TV show is trying to go with, and I feel like they are going with it being based on Elia being unable to bear any more children, despite not yet having a son. So my theory is that Rhaenys is their child, but Elia could not have another child after that, and so Aegon is actually adopted (how he came about will be mentioned later). As well, I like to think that Elia had a little more agency in this situation than just a passive and unfortunate bystander who got dragged into the bad situation.

So I have a random theory/was hit by a plot bunny while writing about Elia that's probably way off the mark. You can interpret her thoughts about her and Rhaegar's relationship as just two people who don't love each other romantically, or it can mean something deeper for her. In my imagination, Elia is somewhat biromantic, but not necessarily bisexual. Considering that she's Dornish, and her brother Oberyn was bisexual and supposedly being quite free with his partners, male or female, I doubt she would have bothered to define it for herself, though of course I also doubt she would be public about it since she was a woman in a medieval setting. She saw marriage to a man as a duty, but wasn't looking forward to it and was quite happy putting it off, which is partially why it took so long for her to get married despite her being quite an eligible match. ASOIF wiki tells me that Elia is 3 years older than Rhaegar is, and in her twenties when they married. Considering the medieval setting, it's rather odd she wasn't married earlier (look at how young Sansa and Dany were when they were betrothed and married off), which gave more fuel to the idea. I think she and Rhaegar did love each other in their own ways, but not quite as a romantic/sexual partner. Their marriage started off as purely political but evolved to be a closer bond, especially after Rhaenys was born. Elia for sure loved their children together, and loved him as the father of her child even if she didn't love him as a husband, as proven by how she breastfed them rather than give them up to a wet nurse and protected his and Lyanna's secret to the very end.

Their incompatibility originally put a lot of tension in their relationship. Rhaegar was determined to take care of his wife's needs and be a good husband when they were married, but it does cause hurt when he discovers he can never be what she really needs, and that they are just incompatible in a very important way. And while Elia felt relieved that he was nothing like his ax-crazy dad, it doesn't change the fact she can never love him that way. Eventually, both have just accepted that they will just be friends, and will never have a happy marriage. After all, it's not really rare among nobility and royalty to have marriages purely for political convenience. But they do care about each other, and want each other to be happy, and will eventually settle into a more sibling-like love for each other. GRRM has described their relationship as complex, and I feel like that has many interpretations. Of course mine is probably completely AU, but there was just something tragic about this sort of situation that grabbed me somehow. It's also another reason why Rhaegar was more open to falling in love with someone else, considering how seriously he normally took his responsibilities. In my story, she really wanted to end the marriage as well so she didn't have to deal with the tsunami of crazy that was the Mad King, wouldn't have to rule as queen one day (too stressful for her health), and also so she could potentially pursue a relationship she actually wanted. So, she takes a more active role in prodding the two together. The reason they kept everything so secret will be explored later, but the tldr of it was that they were unsure of what Aerys would do, being ax-crazy and all.

If you've made this far, thank you very much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy the next chapter!


	4. The Knight of the Laughing Tree

_This chapter is a bit of a long one, which I hope makes up for the delay…_

* * *

**The Knight of the Laughing Tree**

Harrenhal seemed to be turning into a string of unexpected incidents, Rhaegar thought to himself. None of this was going according to plan. But then again, he had known that such a large Tourney would attract all sorts, and with his father in the mix, madness was bound to happen.

The start of the joust on that day was already punctuated with tension. Aerys had stood just after the last line of the opening ceremonies, intending to speak. He began by publicly declaring that Queen Rhaella had been sent back to King's Landing, accompanied by Kingsguard Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry. Due to the shortage of Kingsguard Knights, he had also decided to ordain a new Kingsguard right then and there, and his choice had led to some surprise.

Jaime Lannister was a green knight of only sixteen years of age, and the heir to Casterly Rock. Choosing him for the celibate and dedicated life of a Kingsguard not only deprived a young man of many life experiences his peers would have, but also Lord Tywin Lannister of his favoured son as heir. It was no secret throughout the Seven Kingdoms that though Tywin had two sons, he quite detested his second son Tyrion, who had been unfortunately born with dwarfism and none of the beauty his elder siblings had been blessed with. It also didn't help that his birth had caused the death of Lady Joanna Lannister, which was perhaps the largest thorn in Tywin's heart. He had loved his wife dearly and likely never forgave Tyrion for her death. He never had to acknowledge the young boy before this. Now, he would have no choice.

Rhaegar managed to school his expression of shock as Aerys made his announcement. He could see Tywin Lannister's simmering anger blazing in his eyes, along with Aerys's glee, and felt a wave of dismay,. So… this was to be his father's final revenge against Tywin for his perceived insults in the past. It was sad that the two once great friends would now be vindictive like this, and Rhaegar feared what the other lord's retribution would be for. He was sure there would be hell to pay, and felt waves of apprehension go through him at the understanding that the already tenuous peace between the Kingdoms had been fractured even more.

There was nothing he could do about it though, not at the moment, and so he turned his eyes to Jaime Lannister himself. The Golden boy of the Lannister family was much like Rhaegar had remembered from a meeting a few years ago: golden-haired, green-eyed, handsome, and proud as he strode forward. He did not seem to notice or care that he was a pawn in the political games between their fathers, and seemed to be quite excited at the honour of being chosen for the Kingsguard. Only the slightest hint of hesitation as he knelt before Aerys betrayed any sign of nervousness as he faced the roster of the greatest knights in Westeros, and swore to give up his previous attachments and inheritance in order to dedicate his life to the protection of the King.

Ser Gerold Hightower took the young man under his wing after the ceremony, as the rest of the onlookers finally began to meander back to their seats. Ser Jaime opted to sit out of the joust, seeming to be still riding his wave of excitement. The older knight gave him a kindly smile and informed him that though his duties involved dedicating every moment of his life to the protection of the King, he would probably need time to ease into it, and thus allowed him to sit with his twin sister Cersei to watch the joust for that day.

"Are you not going to congratulate him?" a voice said from behind Rhaegar. He turned, somewhat surprised as Elia walked toward him, with Ashara and Arthur following close behind.

"Elia? Are you sure you are well enough to watch the joust?" he gave her a look over, trying to see if there was any sign of sickness or exhaustion in her.

She smiled at him. "Don't worry about me, Rhae. I told you, there was nothing wrong with my physically. Besides, we heard what was happening and decided to come and see. So that is him? Jaime Lannister?"

Rhaegar nodded. Elia frowned. "He seems a bit young to be giving everything up for a place with the Kingsguard."

"Yes… but I have heard he is quite a celebrated warrior in the Westerlands. Perhaps he's always liked his lance better than the books and papers that come with being a Lord."

"The opposite of you then?" Arthur teased. Rhaegar rolled his eyes lightly, used to such comments now.

"From what I see. He has no reservations about the role. Quite the opposite: I have not seen someone so excited for being selected in years… not since you," he added to Arthur, who just grinned.

"All the reason for us to greet him then?"

Rhaegar nodded and he and Arthur made their way over. Jaime's twin Cersei noticed their approach first, and quickly sat up, her green eyes fixed upon Rhaegar. He was not unused to eyes often being focused on him (it came with the position of Prince, after all), but he did note that her gaze was particularly intense, in a way that made him almost a little unnerved.

Jaime also turned at their approach, and his eyes widened in shock, and he quickly stood and bowed deeply.

"Prince Rhaegar… Ser Arthur…"

Though polite, there was no mistaking the excitement in his voice.

"Congratulations, Ser Jaime, on your selection," Rhaegar said formally.

"The honour is all mine, my lord," Jaime said. Rhaegar detected nothing but sincerity in his tone. "I have hoped for such a role for years now, and I swear to do my utmost to be worthy of my role, to keep you and your family safe, and to be counted amongst the most respected knights in the Kingdom."

Rhaegar nodded. "I am glad to hear that this is what you really want," he said softly, turning to Arthur to see if he had anything to add.

"I welcome you, Ser Jaime, as my newest Kingsguard brother," Arthur said, his formal mask also slipping into place. "I know it must be surprising to be thrown into the role at a Tourney like this. Fear not, Ser Gerold will be there to guide you, and you can come to any of us if you are unsure of anything."

Jaime seemed to puff with some pride at being called one of Arthur's Kingsguard brothers. It was clear that he idolized the Sword of the Morning (which was not expected, as Arthur's skills were legendary).

"Will you join the listings today, my lord?" Cersei spoke up suddenly, interrupting the topic of conversation. She had directed her question at Rhaegar, who was rather taken aback by the directness and change in topic. As his gaze flickered to her, she gave him a sweet smile, leaning forward to show her figure in better advantage and tilting her head to the side coyly while her eyes fixed on him almost hungrily.

Rhaegar was no stranger to others trying to flirt with him. After being called dense about these things many a time in his youth, he'd learnt to see the signs rather quickly now. However, that didn't mean that he was used to it, or that it didn't make him uncomfortable.

"I think not, my lady," he said politely but distantly. Experience had taught him that it was better to try and discourage them as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Cersei was undeterred, and leaned forward even more. "But my lord, your skill and prowess as a knight is well-known throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and not undeserved! I saw you joust at the Tourney of Lannisport in 276, where you beat almost every opponent that challenged you!"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I still lost to Arthur in the end," he kept his tone detached as he could while remaining polite.

"It was close… and besides, you beat me in the Tourney of Storm's End the next year, so we're even," Arthur said with a raised eyebrow at him. Rhaegar gave him a quick look, imploring him to not continue this conversation more. Arthur had not noticed Cersei Lannister's advances, but he did understand the warning Rhaegar's eyes, and quickly relented.

"If I were to join, I think it would be in the later listings," he turned politely back to the Lannister siblings. "I still have many other duties to attend to."

"Of course," Jaime said knowingly, giving Cersei a nudge as he spoke to Rhaegar. "It would be a waste to be involved too early, before the better and more worthier warriors show up. The ones who even stand a chance of lasting more than two rounds, let alone winning any of the prizes. You would not waste your time with these low-tier challengers, would you my Lord?"

Rhaegar made a non-committal sound of agreement with Jaime's assessment, trying to maintain civility. While it was an unspoken rule, Jaime's barely hidden tone of disdain for some of the knights from poorer homes who could scarcely afford the training given to those more 'worthier' knights was one unfortunately shared by many in the nobility. But not one Rhaegar particularly liked. His family history with Ser Duncan the Tall, the hedge knight who had distinguished himself enough to go from a nobody to the Lord Commander of Aegon V's Kingsguard, had always made Rhaegar more inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to all challengers, regardless of how polished or shabby and ill-matched their armor and weapons were. Rhaegar had always looked up the memory of the honourable knight, to whom he owed his life (after all, he'd rescued his mother from the fire of Summerhall minutes before Rhaegar had been born). From Ser Duncan's example, Rhaegar had learned that it was skill, integrity, and dedication that distinguished a good warrior from the great.

But of course, he was painfully aware that the rest of world did not think the same, and believed that blood, wealth, and status to be much more important.

They made their excuses and quickly moved back to sit with the Royal Party. Elia leaned in as soon as he sat down, and murmured, "I had an interesting conversation earlier."

"Oh?" he gave her a curious look. She had a strange, probing expression, and a small smile played on her lips. He was glad to see that she seemed to be in a much better mood.

"Yes. I took a turn about the Gardens and bumped into two of the Starks of Winterfell."

Rhaegar felt a jolt in his stomach at the mention of the Starks, and his mind flashed immediately to grey eyes and the sweet scent of winter roses. Forcing the invading thoughts of his mind, he willed his expression not to change as he replied, "Ah, which ones?"

"Lord Brandon and Lady Lyanna."

"I see."

Elia gave him a curious look, probing. He wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for, but she continued on anyways, describing how she had taken the time to know the daughter of the Stark family, finishing the story with a 'I quite like her. She's a quite lively and charming without putting on any false pretenses. Did you know she's the best rider in her family after her brother Brandon? I was quite envious… my parents never allowed me to ride a horse in my youth."

Rhaegar nodded, somehow unsurprised by this revelation about Lyanna Stark. He wondered why Elia was telling him about this meeting in particular, though inwardly berated himself for even trying to see if she had any ulterior motives. He should be happy for her to be able to connect with more people, and just because he had to watch his back in court all the time on account of his father and all the other scheming nobles, didn't mean he had to apply that to his private life as well.

"I'm glad you were able to have a good time, and that you seem to be doing better."

Elia smiled at him. "Much better, thank you. I… it will pass. This isn't new, after all."

He just nodded and gave her hand a quick squeeze, unable to say more as the call for the joust to begin sounded. Though this bout was not as well-observed as some of the others, since most of the challengers were young squires, he still made a point to observe the skills of the riders, knowing that many would become knights he potentially worked with in the future. He watched with interest as challenger after challenger rode against each other, and the crowd alternatively cheered or groaned as their favourites were defeated.

The current champion was a squire of House Haigh that was no older than fifteen, bearing rather gaudy armor. He had won three bouts in a row, and the two other squires waiting to ride, likely his friends, were cheering him ecstatically.

"Are there any other challengers? I will take you all on, squire or knight, highborn or lowborn!" he called out arrogantly. "Or are you all too afraid I will defeat you. Understandable, of course. Perhaps I will win this Tourney after all!"

Rhaegar heard Arthur scoff from where he sat behind him, "Oh please, your attitude makes you look like an idiot who just got lucky. All talk with no skills, and not even worth challenging to most of the people here."

But then, it appeared there would be a challenger after all. Rhaegar heard gasps as a figure in a set of old knight's armor suddenly rode forward silently. He tilted his head curiously as he observed the knight stop just before the current champion. The knight said nothing, only pointed his tourney sword at the squire.

"Oh, so you wish to challenge me?' the squire called out, derisive as he glanced over the knight's rather shabby and ill-fitted armor. "What is your name, _ser_?" he said the title mockingly.

The knight said nothing still, only raised the shield in his hand. Upon it was a rather hastily done, though surprisingly good, drawing of a Weirwood. The trees had always fascinated Rhaegar, the unsettling contrast of the blood-red leaves and the wide 'grin' drawing his interest. He knew the tree was often affiliated with the Old Gods, worshiped by the North. So it would seem this knight must have been one of theirs.

Glancing over at where the Northerners sat, however, immediately informed him that this might not be the case. They all looked at each other in confusion, whispering amongst themselves. Some looked curious, while others slightly scandalized, likely thinking that this knight was making a mockery of their culture.

"Hmm, this is getting interesting," Arthur said, leaning forward.

"Oho, so you are Ser… Knight of the Laughing Tree, is it?" the squire called out, and his friends joined in on the jeers and laughter. But the knight jerked his head once in a nod. Rhaegar was a little amused to see the helmet quiver a little, as if not quite sitting right. But the Knight remained calm, staring the squire down through the visor.

"Well, all right then, I'll humor you! Let us get to it!"

Both contestants got into position. Rhaegar was surprised to find himself leaning forward curiously as well, his breath held as he watched the two ride toward one another. Despite the knight's poor choice of armor, he was clearly an exceptional rider. This piqued Rhaegar's interest, and he narrowed his eyes and he observed the mysterious knight more closely, taking in every incongruous detail of the scene.

The knight fumbled a little with the tourney sword as they approached (perhaps because his too-large gauntlet had slipped a little), he was easily able to recover and narrowly, through gracefully, dodged the squire's attempt to unhorse him. On the second round, he must have gotten his bearings and rode forward sharply, cleanly (and it must be said, rather forcefully), unhorsing his opponent.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. The squire quickly picked himself him, wincing a little in pain. But any physical pain was probably nothing compared to the humiliation he must have felt, judging by his red face.

"That wasn't fair! I wasn't ready and wasn't doing my best!"

Lord Whent, who had been overseeing the judging, shook his head. "If you did not try your best, it is no one's fault but your own. The winner of this bout is the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

There were several cheers. Rhaegar couldn't help but glance over at the Northerners again, especially at the Starks who had decided to watch the joust. He saw Brandon Stark nudge a small boy sitting beside him with a grin. The boy had a rather embarrassed smile and seemed rather nervous to be sitting with the as important a family as the Starks. From behind him, Eddard Stark seemed rather amused, while Benjen Stark continued to cheer on the mysterious knight.

The squire let out an angry growl, and whirled on his friends. "You guys better take him down!"

"Don't worry," one of them said, stepping forward. This one was a squire of House Blount, looking a little less hotheaded than the first, but no less confident.

But it was not to be for him either. This time, the Knight of the Laughing Tree unhorsed him forcefully in one go. There were more cheers at that, with even the Northerners who had been upset at his choice of sigil cheering now.

The last squire rode forward, a member of House Frey. He was the biggest and brawniest of them all and eyed the mysterious knight with interest and a little respect.

"You're good, I give you that. But I'm afraid your luck has run out. Once I defeat you, I will remove that mask and see your true identity!"

The knight gave no reply, only got into position. At the mark, both charged towards each other. The first round, both missed. The second, the knight managed to land a hit, but was unable to completely knock the Frey squire down. His tourney sword had also cracked but did not break. Rhaegar could see the crowd leaning forward with bated breath, all eager to see what would happen.

The knight turned his horse around, and both rode at each other one last time. This time, both seemed to give their all. Unluckily for the Frey Squire, the mystery knight was the superior rider, and dodged his strike before landing a hard blow of his own. His strike was so vehement that his tourney sword cracked and broke, but it was enough. The Frey squire was sent flying off his horse and landed heavily.

The crowd cheered ecstatically. Many clapped and called out encouragements. Lord Whent seemed rather amused as the three defeated squires began arguing heatedly with one another at whose fault it was that they had been defeated so soundly.

"Well, Ser, I congratulate you," Lord Whent said. "If there are no more challengers, then this knight will be declared winner for today!"

There were none. Lord Whent nodded at his servant to fetch the prize for that day's listings.

"Now, good ser, will you reveal your identity and receive your reward?"

The Knight gave a moment's pause, but then to everyone's shock, shook his head sharply and kicked his horse. Before anyone could do more than gasp, he had galloped away, quickly disappearing in a cloud of dust.

For a moment, the crowd was gobsmacked. Then voices rose as excited speculation and exclamations of how entertaining the whole thing had been broke out. Rhaegar could see that most were in high spirits, even the defeated squires, who had sidled up to Lord Whent to ask for the prize in lieu of the mystery knight, considering he had forfeited his win by leaving.

Only one person did not seem amused. Rhaegar could feel a cloud of tense agitation and fury rise from a few seats beside him and was almost unsurprised as his father stood and yelled, "Treachery! How dare he not show his face before his king? This is a plot, a nefarious plot against myself and the Seven Kingdoms!"

"Your Grace!" Ser Gerold Hightower tried to calm Aerys, but the mad king would not be talked down.

"He must be found! He must be found and unmasked and punished for trying to plot against me!" he yelled out, his eyes blazing with a crazed light.

"Of course, your grace!" Lord Robert Baratheon had stood, bowing respectfully to Aerys. He seemed rather excited at the prospect of a bounty hunt. "I will see to it personally that the knight is found and unmasked!"

"Just you will not be enough," Aerys cried out. "I want more of you searching!"

"At once, your Grace," Ser Richard Lonmouth, who had been sitting beside Robert, spoke up. "I too will join in the search."

Rhaegar was rather surprised that his former squire had volunteered himself so readily. Richard had never been one to easily give into Aerys's mad ramblings… but then again, perhaps the mystery of the knight had unnerved him as well.

Aerys considered the young knight for a moment. Then, his gaze slid to Rhaegar, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He steeled himself.

"Father?"

"You… have you any idea who it might have been?"

"No father," he answered immediately. "I also did not see his face, nor did I recognize his armor or sigil."

He willed his expression to remain blank as his father's suspicious eyes considered him, and met his father's accusatory gaze steadily.

"Then you too will go to search for him. As my son and heir, you above all must not fail me."

Rhaegar gave one nod of acknowledgement. He felt Elia tense from beside him, nervous as she always was when Aerys glanced their way. Arthur could say nothing, but his earlier cheer was gone as he observed the standoff.

"Then go!" Aerys all but shrieked at him.

Rhaegar gave Elia's shoulder a quick squeeze, apologizing for having to leave her alone again, and glanced at Arthur, entrusting her safety to him. Arthur nodded, knowing that it would be best to get Elia away from Aerys while he was this angry. Richard Lonmouth quickly joined him as he left the jousting area.

"This is rather exciting," Richard said as soon as they were out of earshot of the King. "I've never gone on a mission with you before."

"Mission?" Rhaegar said, amused by the word choice despite the tension he felt. The younger knight shrugged.

"I knew His Grace would ask you to look for the Knight. You're always so clever and observant, surely if anyone could track him down it would be you. I thought I'd volunteer so we can work together."

"You flatter me, Richard," Rhaegar said as he saddled his horse. Richard shrugged, still seeming in high spirits.

"So, do you have any idea who it was?" Richard asked as they followed the faint tracks left behind by the horse the knight had been riding. It led into the woods on the grounds of Harrenhal, unsurprising if he was trying to throw off pursuit and hide his true identity

"Hmmm, I'm not quite sure yet. I was sure I've seen that armor somewhere before, but no one in the listings, or even just practicing, has been wearing anything like it. Although, now that I think on it, I realized that it must have been an older style of armor used by knights of the North. But that hardly matters, since it was likely stolen. You must have noticed how ill-fitted it was?"

Richard raised an eyebrow. "No, not really? That's interesting… and he never did speak, did he? So we cannot identify him by voice either. Trying to hide his identity from the start with stolen armor and that laughing tree sigil, and pinning it on the Northmen to throw off our scent, I see… Clever of him."

"Richard, I believe we should split up," Rhaegar interrupted the other's musings as they reached the edge of the woods.

"What?" Richard turned to him, looking rather surprised and disappointed. "Why?"

"The forests around Harrenhal are large and dense… we would cover a much greater amount of area if we search separately. Look, these tracks are already fading on the harder soil…. We can't rely on them much longer."

"I suppose," Richard conceded. "Good luck then. I'll try my best to scour as much of the area as possible."

"Thank you," Rhaegar said sincerely.

They parted at the next fork, and Rhaegar let out a breath. He had told a partial lie to both his father and Richard. He had known from the beginning that the knight must have been a Northerner, and after seeing them ride and joust, had quickly figured out why the knight never spoke. Alone at last, he let out a chuckle of amusement to himself, and the smile he'd been holding in.

"She never ceases to amaze me."

~line break~

"Crap," Lyanna hissed to herself, struggling to move as quickly as she could in the oversized armor. She could still hear the uproar back at the jousting site, and knew it would only be a matter of time before other knights swarmed to look for her.

Still, it had been worth it just to see the stunned looks of disappointment on those pathetic bullies' faces when she'd easily knocked them off their horses. "That'll teach them about picking on people, just due to their rank and their looks."

She urged the horse a little faster. It wouldn't do for any of her family, or the squires of Winterfell, to see it. They might recognize the horse as one of theirs and figure out her identity. With that in mind, she had quickly made way to the small woods on the outskirts of Harrenhal, determined to find a secluded place to change out of the worn armor and dispose of the borrowed weapons.

The woods were like a maze. After a while, she began to wonder if she was going in circles… the trees were all unfamiliar and looked so similar. Impatience gnawed at her, and she turned her horse back along the path she'd just been on, and took another fork. If she didn't find a way out of this soon, she was doomed.

Just as she was about to throw her hands up in frustration, she saw something flicker in the distance. Squinting, she realized it was the sun shimmering off of something… water! Yes, that's exactly what she needed. Urging the horse forward, she found herself at the edge of a large pond or small lake… probably decorative for the Whents of Harrenhal, but it would do. She stripped the armor off and then dug into her saddlebags for a dress she'd hastily packed in there. Pulling on the garment, she hissed as the fabric dragged across her arm. Pulling up the sleeve, she saw with dismay some cuts and bruises there where the armor had dug into her flesh. Indecision gripped her then. Should she worry about it right now, or should she worry about getting back?

A drop of blood oozed out of the wound, and it made up her mind. She stepped closer to the bank of the pond and dipped the tunic she had worn under the armor into it, intent on cleaning the wound.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

The voice made her jump, since she hadn't even heard the sound of anyone approaching. She reacted without thought, drawing the small sword she'd stolen to ride out with and swinging it at the unknown person. The newcomer gasped and swerved to the side, but she felt the blade nick them, and heard their surprised hiss of pain. Her momentary satisfaction at landing a blow was replaced with horror as her brain caught up with her body, and she realized she recognized the voice.

"Oh crap…" she swore again. "My Prince… I'm so sorry I…"

She had no idea what to do as the silvery-haired man examined the cut on his forearm. Panic rose within her. Was she going to get killed for hurting royalty? Would her family be dishonored? Why did she act before thinking?

Prince Rhaegar surprised her by letting out a shocked laugh. "I must admit… I did not think your immediate reaction would be to attack me. If I had known that, I would have dodged quicker… or perhaps tried harder not to surprise you."

She blinked. His purple gaze met hers, and she saw no anger in them, only amusement and something else… something almost like admiration.

"The fault is entirely mine, my lady," he said with an apologetic nod, "I imagine any young woman, or indeed anyone at all, would not appreciate being startled like that."

She felt her face go red. "I… I should have recognized your voice…" how could she forget his voice when it haunted her dreams and waking hours all the time?

He shook his head. "Please don't worry yourself. It is a clean cut and will heal quickly. And none shall be the wiser."

Lyanna wasn't sure what to say. Was he truly not angry? He didn't look it, but she had not forgotten the stories of what some previous princes and kings had done to those who had slighted them, for even more minor offences.

Rhaegar whistled slightly, and a white horse trotted toward him from a little ways away. That would explain why Lyanna hadn't heard his approach. The prince patted the beast on the neck gently before walking around and rummaging through his saddlebags.

"As I was saying, you probably don't want to clean your wound with pond water. We have no idea what is in it, and it could cause infection, or at least irritate the cut more."

He pulled out a small vial of a dark brown liquid and a clean handkerchief, and some bandages, before making his way back to her. He dabbed a little of the liquid onto the cloth, and Lyanna wrinkled her nose slightly at its odd smell.

"What is that?" she asked.

"An antiseptic developed in Lys," he replied. "They have some of the most advanced research and development in tinctures and potions, and they have discovered that applying this onto wounds helps prevent it from festering."

He approached her, and held out the cloth while gesturing at his arm. "May I?"

Her breath caught for a moment. He was going to treat her wound? Her mind seemed to have gone blank with shock, and without thinking, she nodded. He was gentle as he carefully lifted her sleeve and dabbed at the cut. It stung slightly, but the effect did not last long. She as much more distracted by the feel of his warm hand on her arm, and his close proximity. She could see his face so much clearly now, see the deep purple of his eyes as they concentrated on the task, see the way a few locks of his silvery-gold hair fell slightly onto his handsome face, which filled her with the mad urge to brush it away.

She swallowed slightly and felt her heart pound wildly against her ribcage. She struggled to keep her breathing even, but he must have noticed a change anyways, and looked up.

"Does it hurt? Forgive me… I must apply a little pressure to stop the bleeding…"

Lyanna quickly shook her head, trying to unscramble her mind. "Why are you helping me?"

It was the first thing she could think of to say. A moment later, she quickly added, "not that I'm not grateful, my lord. I am, really… but… you're you and…"

She wasn't sure if he understood. But he didn't seem confused by her rambling.

"Why am I helping you when I am a prince, with no need to lift a finger to fulfill my own needs?"

She nodded.

He glanced back down and removed the handkerchief, checking the wound. Satisfied that it had stopped bleeding, he pulled out another small tub of salve, carefully applied it to the cuts, before wrapping a bandage around it.

"I am not so different from you," he said while he worked. "We are both people, are we not? Is it not the basic form of human decency to help another in need?"

That wasn't an answer, and he must have seen her frown. He sighed slightly.

"I suppose it is no secret how… neglectful my father is of his subjects, and his Kingdom. I can do little as of right now, for he still holds absolute power over everyone, myself included. But I try to do what little I can regardless. Seeing him as made me realize that our place in life is truly the luck of a draw… the privilege we have, the power we hold, are all because we were born at the right time to the right people. I have seen the poorest beggar in the slums of King's Landing offer his meager meal to a woman and child in need, and that was more than my father has ever done. One does not need to have much to be kind and generous, and if I should not give what I can when I can, offer help to those in need, then truly I am unworthy of what I have been born with."

He finished bandaging her arm and stepped back. "It is something you Starks are well known for as well, is it not? The generosity of your House to the people of the North, nobles and common folk alike, is well known, and something I've always respected, admired, and wanted to emulate."

Lyanna didn't know what to say. She wasn't aware that her father's activities were much known outside of the North. And she knew that some had criticized him for giving handouts to the poor, enabling those who would rather not try to improve themselves but just receive and take advantage of his kindness. And she was sure that some amongst those who receive the Stark's generosity do exploit it. But most of them, she was sure, are good and hardy folk who are nothing but grateful for the gifts, and used their aid responsibly.

"I… that is very admirable of you as well, my prince," she said quietly. The bandage on her arm was skillfully done, not too tight, and yet secure and comfortable. It spoke of him having done this many times for others. Unsure of what else she could do, she offered, "Do you want me to dress your wound as well? It's… it's only fair since I gave it to you."

Rhaegar seemed surprised and glanced down at his arm as if he'd forgotten. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

Lyanna had also had some practice bandaging wounds, having needed to treat herself many times after sneaking out to practice sparring or jousting. She didn't just pull her skill in the Tourney today from thin air, after all. She borrowed some of his tincture and carefully dabbed at the wound, just as he had done for her, before she dressed and bandaged it as well. She tried to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped close to him again, close enough that she could smell his rather pleasant scent. She also resolutely ignored the strange flopping of her stomach, and the heat that threatened to rise on her cheeks, as her hands and fingers brushed his skin and felt the strong muscles of his forearm. Thankfully, he was still and quiet as she worked, gazing thoughtfully over the pond, though once or twice she caught his eyes flickering to her. Every time, her heart leapt slightly, but she remained outwardly calm.

"Thank you, my lady," he said quietly but sincerely once she was done. She just nodded, unsure of what to do now.

"May I ask another question?"

He tiled his head slightly in curiosity. "Of course."

"Why are you here?" It was something she probably should have asked right away, before she became distracted by her untimely attack on him.

The corners of his lips twitched a little. "Well, my father asked myself and several others to track down the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree, and to unmask and bring them before him. He seems to believe they are part of some treacherous plot."

Lyanna felt herself pale as horror filled her. "You… don't know it was me…" she tried to say defiantly.

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow at her. "On the contrary, I knew it must have been you as soon as I saw the mystery knight joust."

She shook her head. "I don't believe that. And I said it wasn't me. I… just happened to find the armor here…"

It was weak, and she knew it. But she had to try.

Rhaegar pressed his lips together, and she wasn't sure if he was irritated or trying not to laugh.

"Firstly, I recognized the breed of horse as being particularly common in the North. As well, I know that the Laughing Tree is a reference to the Weirwood, which is quite sacred to the Old Gods. These points spoke of someone who is very much connected to the North. The armor the knight wore was old, mismatched, and ill-fitted. The way it shook when the knight rode would not happen if the body within filled it properly, indicating it was not theirs. Furthermore, the style is one I recognize… from five years back. Lord Rickard Stark had recently spoke of upgrading the design of the armor for his knights for better ease of movement, and so most of the other Northern knights are wearing newer armor, with the older versions being brought by squires as a backup. No northern knight would ride out on the first day of the tournament in something old… unless it was the only armor they had access to, would not be missed if taken, and because they did not have their own. Someone smaller than the other knights with no armor of their own and is ill-fitted in a full knight's older armor would either be an aspiring young squire, or possibly a smaller woman."

He glanced at her. she crossed her arms, not willing to give in. the corners of his lips twitched again, and he continued. "That had already piqued my interest. The knight never spoke, indicating that their voice would be an obvious hint as to their identity, and would cause an immediate uproar to most of the crowd even if it had been distorted by the visor. Again, a woman's voice would certain meet those requirements. The skill with which the knight rode with meant that it was no green squire, and a quick scan of the stands let me know instantly that you were not sitting with your brothers today, or indeed anywhere at all, thus making the conclusion obvious."

"You had no reason to suspect I could ride, or joust," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Ah, but you told Elia this morning that you love to ride, did you not? She indicated you were even better than Lord Brandon. And you watched me and your brother Brandon's spar with critical interest, not just passing observation, leading me to believe you knew more about the subject of warrior arts than you let on."

Oh of course. Princess Elia and him would certainly talk. She just hadn't thought the Dornish lady would bring her up in conversation.

A tiny smile crossed his face as she huffed, still unwilling to admit defeat.

"Tracking in the woods was easy. I just had to look for hoof prints that did not seem to accompany anyone else and had no sense of direction. Though the hard ground makes them difficult to identify, I know these trails well enough by now to take note of anything amiss. On the other hand, a Northerner would probably not know Harrenhal well, and escape would probably result in them losing their way. I did not approach right away when I saw you take off your visor, because I was sure you would want to change and would want privacy. It's only when I heard your hiss of pain that I came to check on you."

He finished the tale and looked at her earnestly. The amusement mixed with sincerity in his eyes was hard to resist, and she sighed.

"Fine… you caught me. What will you do now, bring me to your father?" she challenged, chin lifting in defiance.

He shook his head. "Of course I will do nothing of the sort. Did I not just say that I know my father to be rather mad and unreasonable? I had come to warn you of the search party, and that you should try to hide all evidence as quickly as possible. Besides, how could I do that to someone who had just expressed such genuine admiration for my songs yesterday? It would be the height of dishonor."

The words made her laugh in surprise, especially the overly dramatic solemnity with which he delivered the last line. She had always heard of him being melancholy and dour, and to have him make anything approximating a joke surprised her greatly. In fact, she realized that in the time she had known him, he hadn't been particularly gloomy at all. And though reticent, he had actually smiled and laughed several times. She wondered if the rumors were just exaggerations then, said by disgruntled nobles, or perhaps he was just very different in private compared to in public.

As if to prove her right, her laughter broke his solemn mask and he smiled again, this time more widely, and chuckled as well.

"Thank you," she said more sincerely and earnestly this time. "Really… if there's anything I can do."

"Well… there is," he began. Before she could panic at what he would ask, he continued. "If you would tell me what drove you to enlist today, I would be happy to keep this a secret."

"Oh," she let out a breath of relief. "Of course. It's a bit of a long story but-"

He cut her off, suddenly putting a finger to his lips. She stilled, and listened. In the distance, they could hear shouts.

"Dammit, this is impossible to navigate!" came an annoyed voice. Her eyes widened in horror as she recognized the tones.

"Careful Robert… stay on the path, or your horse might twist its leg. How will we track that knight then?"

"It's my brother Ned and Robert Baratheon," she hissed, eyes wheeling around in panic. Rhaegar frowned at her.

"Is that a problem?" he asked in confusion. "Shouldn't they help you, as your brother and betrothed."

"Ugh, not at all!" she exclaimed, forgetting that he knew nothing of her misgivings about Robert, or her annoyance with her brother for suggesting their betrothal. Seeing his brow furrow at her harsh tone, she hurried to explain, "I haven't seen Ned in years so I'm not completely sure how he'd take it, and more importantly Robert knows me about as well as he knows how to speak YiTish, and thinks I'm some sort of delicate maiden still."

He was surprised at her outburst, and perhaps also the venom in her tone as she spoke of Robert. "You don't want this betrothal?"

"To be honest, part of me would rather run away to Essos to be a minstrel than marry him. But never mind that, I need to get out of here! I will be in so much trouble if they find me here, and they figure out what I've done." She shuddered in fear of her father's anger, and Robert Baratheon's rage, against her and against her family, if he realized that she was nothing like the delicate flower he envisioned her to be.

Rhaegar paused for a second, deliberating, and then made up his mind.

"Perhaps not as far as Essos, but we can still make ourselves scarce. Sink the armor in the pond. I will compensate you for the price of it later. You won't want it to be found anyways, in case someone did note it was missing and mysteriously returned later. I'll let Lord Whent know to fish it out when the Tourney is done."

She nodded, seeing the logic of his words. She knew the armor wouldn't be missed, and quickly pushed the heavy thing into the pond. The shield, however, she kept strapped to her back, unwilling to part with it. she then went back to the horse, but Rhaegar stopped her.

"They've been following the tracks of the horse as well," he warned her. "Your brother must have been able to recognize the horseshoe print as being one of your house's. If you let it roam free, they will likely find it soon and just believe the horse was not tethered properly wandered off and the tracks were made by chance."

"How am I supposed to get out of here then?" she hissed back.

"Ride with me," he replied simply. At her wide eyes, he added, "I promise I am not kidnapping you or anything of the sort. If it makes you feel better, you can ride in the back, and you can take my knife so you can stab me if you feel unsafe."

Despite the dire situation, she giggled slightly and rolled her eyes. "I won't stab you unless you give me a reason to. And I have my own knife hidden,' she added.

"Of course. I shouldn't have expected less," he said in amusement again, and his eyes flickered once more in admiration. "Well then, my lady, will you accept my help?"

She nodded. Though it was perhaps not the most ideal situation, she trusted him. They might not have known each other long, but his presence was always warm and gentle, and she felt no ill will from him. Only a sense of safety and comfort. She murmured quietly to her horse, urging the beast to wander back to camp, before she gathered her saddlebags and made her way to Rhaegar's horse. He helped her up, shifting his own saddle forward so she would have more space, trusting her ability to ride behind him. Moments later, they were off, weaving through the trees with much more certainty than she'd had when she first rode away alone. She had to wrap her arms around his waist to keep steady and found it quite warm and calming as they took a circuitous route away from the pond and from Robert and the other men. Carefully, she leaned forward, resting against him more comfortably. She thought she felt his breath catch for a moment, but he did not seem to mind and continued to navigate steadily through the woods, which encouraged her to stay there, relishing the moment.

In time, the voices faded, and he stopped in a small, secluded clearing.

"I think we should be safe here," he said to her, shifting slightly. "We can wait a while until the uproar dies down, and then I will bring you back."

She leaned back at his words and mourned the loss of his warm back and the feel of his strong form in her arms, before she slapped herself inwardly and released him, quickly sliding off the horse.

"How do you know about this place?" she asked him with wide eyes, admiring the dappled sunlight that bathed the edges of the clearing, and small wild flowers that peeked out around the stones and fallen logs.

"Ser Oswell is a good friend of mine, and Harrenhal _is _his home outside of King's Landing. I have been invited here as a guest many times," Rhaegar said simply, offering his horse an apple and murmuring compliments to the beast in thanks for taking them so far so quickly.

_I should have known_, Lyanna thought. Ser Oswell Whent was a celebrated member of the Kingsguard. Lyanna hadn't known Rhaegar was close to any of them though, apart from his famed friendship with Ser Arthur Dayne. She watched as Rhaegar dug in his saddlebags again and drew out a cloak, which he laid across the largest and flattest rock he could find.

"We should wait here a little, while they search the forest. When the uproar has died down a little, and you feel ready, I can take you back to camp by a discreet and circuitous route, so you will not be found," he added. "Though I suppose we cannot wait too long in case your family starts to miss you."

"Oh, they won't," she said, unable to help her grin. "I claimed to have 'lady's pain and ailments' before the joust started and went back to camp. They were all quick to give me space and make themselves scarce. I doubt any of them would look for me for a long while, because apparently I get 'extra testy' during that time."

An amused smile crossed Rhaegar's face. "Ah, that is indeed a useful excuse."

She nodded. "Besides, it's nice to get away for a while, away from all the watchful eyes of those court nobles and the need to act all proper all the time."

"I quite agree," Rhaegar said, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he commiserated with her. "It is doubly hard when you live in the capital."

That was true. He must have had it so much worse, being the crown prince whom all the Kingdoms looked to constantly. Perhaps that would explain his usually guarded expressions and polite though reserved attitude. She quite liked him as he was now, seeming a little more carefree and much happier, if his smiles were anything to go by.

"If so, then please take a seat, my Lady. There's no need to wait while standing,"

"Thank you…" she said and sat down gingerly. He did not join her, and stood to the side, scanning the area. After a moment, she began to feel slightly awkward.

"Are you not going to sit?"

"Hmm? Oh… I… suppose that there is room enough."

He sat down beside her, and Lyanna had to resist the mad urge to shift her position as his warm presence settled beside her. Whether it was to move away politely, or scoot closer to him, she couldn't tell, and was glad he did not seem to have noticed her inner war with herself. Instead, he turned to fix his indigo eyes upon her.

"So then… you were going to tell me why you enlisted."

"Oh… right…" she felt a slight flush of embarrassment. "Well… those three squires I challenged… I caught them bullying the son of one of my father's bannermen… I tried to get my brother Brandon to do something about it, but he was completely useless, so I had to take matters into my own hands."

"So you wanted to get revenge?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it that. I wanted to teach them a lesson. They think they're so great because they are from rich or powerful families and think they can pick on someone smaller than them…" just speaking of it made her angry. She remembered the scene vividly, the three taller squires standing around the cowering Howland reed, jeering and laughing and occasionally kicking him. She'd chased them off with a Tourney Sword, but it had hardly been satisfactory, since she knew they'd only backed off because she was a Stark.

"A sentiment shared by many, I'm afraid," Rhaegar said softly. "In our world, money and power speaks, and too often there are those who abuse their position or wealth."

She raised an eyebrow at him. He let out a humorless chuckle. "Of course, I include my own family in that."

"I'm surprised you'd admit it."

He shrugged. "There is no point in denying it, and things will never get better if we turn a blind eye. But forgive me, I did not mean to shift the conversation away. So then, you decided to enlist in order to defend this Howland Reed's honour?"

She grinned. "Yup. I wanted to give them a healthy dose of humility by besting them at the joust. Though… I admit I had a bit of petty pride in there. They only left me alone because I was from a Great House, and made a great show of concession because of it too. I wanted to prove to them that it didn't matter if I was a woman, nor what my House name was, I could still beat them. Either way it worked. They learnt that they aren't as talented as they think, and I think they also got the shock of their lives to see Howland sitting with us last night at the feast, and again with my brothers at the joust."

He raised an eyebrow, seeming rather amused by her admission. "While I commend and admire you for standing up for someone else, I have to say, I'm not sure if it solves the problem entirely."

At that, she frowned, feeling rather irritated (and a little hurt) that he didn't agree. It was surprising how much what he thought mattered… she hadn't cared when Brandon criticized her for trying to get him to join the joust to teach them a lesson, becoming defensive instead. But somehow Rhaegar's words hit deeper.

Seeing her frown, he quickly explained, "Please take no offense. As I said, it is admirable that you stood up for him, and showed those other squires that he had friends and should not be trifled with. But it doesn't stop them. They pick on him because it makes them feel bigger, likely because they feel small in their normal lives. But though you may have stopped them yesterday, and humiliated them today, what of tomorrow, or the day after that? You cannot always be around to protect him, and he needs to protect himself. They may fear Lady Lyanna Stark, they may fear the Knight of the Laughing Tree, but they do not fear Howland Reed."

Her frown deepened and she crossed her arms. Brandon had said something similar, saying that it wasn't very helpful for him to be seen defeating them, since he was the heir of House Stark. Though in Brandon's case, he'd also been reluctant because he hadn't wanted to join the early listings. Lyanna had become angry, leading to their argument in the garden earlier. Seeing that Brandon wasn't going to budge, she'd taken it upon herself to do something. It had seemed worth it to see Howland smile as he watched his bullies get a taste of their own medicine, but perhaps Rhaegar had a point.

"Well what should I have done then?" she asked with some annoyance.

"I'm afraid that there isn't always a simple answer. But I believe he needs to learn to stand up for himself."

"Are you mad? He's so much smaller than them. they'll rip him apart!"

"I did not say he had to do it alone. What you did for him, inviting him to be friends with you and your brothers, I think that is one of the best things you could have done to help boost his confidence. But he needs to show that he will stand up to them even when you're not there to protect him. And then, when they realize that he will not just lie down and take it, that he also has support from others who find him worthy to stand with and call a friend."

She was quiet then, mulling over his words. True, Howland didn't have to be alone. They could be there with him if he confronted his bullies… but Howland would have to speak for himself the next time. Otherwise, he would be seen as just hiding behind the Starks for protection.

He seemed to sense her acceptance of his words and smiled a little. "I can't promise it will work every time, but I think it just might in this situation. Too often we use violence to solve our problems, but that isn't always the answer."

"No, but it still felt really good to see them fall and struggle inelegantly after unhorsing them."

At that, he laughed again. Lyanna couldn't help feel her stomach flip-flop a little at hearing his unrestrained laughter. She remembered Princess Elia's words earlier that day about how Arthur Dayne had been trying to make him laugh, but to no avail. But Rhaegar had laughed so many times already today, that she couldn't help wondering if it was an exaggeration on the Princess's part? Or… or was Lyanna just better at provoking such good humor from him? The latter thought made a strange shiver go through her, one that made her feel tingly and fuzzy in a strangely nice way.

"I must agree," Rhaegar said as his chuckles subsided. "If they are truly as terrible as you described," he said, amusement clear in his eyes. Lyanna smiled back at him, and for a moment, there as a comfortable silence as they just gazed at each other. Then Lyanna shook herself, reminding again that she should not be enjoying her time with him so much.

Thankfully, his attention shifted suddenly as a songbird flew past them. His eyes widened and she saw a spark appear in his eyes as he watched the bird flight with academic fascination.

"They're back earlier than usual… perhaps spring will last a bit longer? Or perhaps that one is lost from its flock," he murmured to himself.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Oh," he started, seeming to have forgotten he had an audience for a moment. She saw the faintest dusting of pink cross his face for a moment, the only outward sign of his embarrassment. "Forgive me, I… was distracted."

"I could tell," she replied, unable to hide the amusement in her voice. "I didn't think birdwatching was one of your hobbies."

His embarrassment became more pronounced. "Not exactly a hobby, but I read extensively about the migratory patterns of certain songbirds a few years ago, because they may help predict how long each season may last, and when winter may come."

Lyanna was unable to suppress her smile. It humanized him somehow… despite his lofty position and royal air, he had such interest in such a banal and seemingly boring topic.

"Not the sort of thing I expect a prince to read about," she teased. "I expect history, economics and politics to make up most of your reading."

"They are, but those can get too weighty and boring sometimes… this is more light reading."

"Light?" she gave him an incredulous look as flood of giggles escaped her. "I can guarantee you that if you gave something like that to my brothers, they would be asleep within minutes, if not complaining heavily."

He shrugged but did not seem offended by her laughing at his expense. She quickly tried to control herself, but couldn't help asking, "So then… what other 'light' reading do you do?"

Evidently, this was a topic he actually had interest in. Within the next while, Lyanna learned a myriad of things, ranging from music to medicine to architecture to geography. Despite the sometimes rather dry topics, she couldn't help listen to every word he said with interest. She had rarely see him, or anyone really, so animated as they spoke of their studies, and she could feel his genuine passion for all of his academic pursuits. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising, given that there was a saying in the Seven Kingdoms that Queen Rhaella must have swallowed books and a candle while pregnant with him, for he came into the world reading. His thirst for knowledge was legendary. But it was something entirely different to hear it directly from him.

It was endearing… and as she watched and listened to him, she could feel the seed of affection in her heart take root and grow, even if she'd had the will to stop it.

From there, they moved onto other topics of conversation, the ice having been fully broken at last. He was a fascinating and engaging conversationalist when he allowed himself to talk without restraint, and Lyanna found herself keen to pick at his wide breadth of knowledge. It was surprisingly comfortable talking to him. She felt safe voicing any of her thoughts and opinions, and never felt as if he would use them against her or think her inappropriate for thinking such things. He respected her position even if they did not agree, and after having been told often that a Lady should not presume to know more than man, that was a breath of fresh air for Lyanna.

"You know, this was quite enjoyable," she commented after their discussion on the best way to gain a horse's affection, which Lyanna had won. "I hadn't thought you would be easy to talk to, being a prince and all."

At that, his previously content expression faded, and a sad and heartbreakingly lonely look crossed his face for a moment. It was quickly gone, replaced by his normal stoic expression, but she hadn't been able to miss it, and had to fold her hands in her lap to resist the urge to reach out and comfort him.

"I am glad to be of service, my lady," he said softly.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Isn't it a good thing? If you are to be King one day, wouldn't it be important that your subjects feel comfortable talking to you?"

At that, his sighed and looked away. "I suppose it is. But I was just reminded that few people have ever told me that they found my company enjoyable. I suppose I had little in the way of friends, growing up. Most are never able to see past my family name or title. Arthur is about the only one I had been able to truly count on."

"Yes, you two seem very close." She hesitated for a moment, and then, feeling bold, added, "I could be your friend, if you want."

He glanced up at that, measuring her as if trying to figure out if she was making fun of him. She tried to look as sincere as possible, to let him know she really meant it.

"Really, I'll be your friend, if you'll be mine. And I promise this is not because of any ulterior motives other than the fact I like your company and you as a person. Besides, you saved me this time, and I think that's enough to start a friendship."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips at that. "I do not believe you ever needed to be saved, my lady. But… I am glad to be able to help make the situation a little less inconvenient for you. And… I am honoured by your friendship."

Lyanna smiled widely at that, trying to keep her heart from pounding so loudly, afraid he would be able hear it. "Good, its settled then!"

The moment was interrupted again as they heard voices in the distance. Lyanna recognized them after straining her ears. This time, their owners were much less alarming.

"Oh, it's Howland and Benjen… I guess they were roped into looking as well." Judging by the voices, Howland seemed rather nervous, while Benjen was excited to put his ranging skills to use in tracking down the knight.

"I suppose we have hid long enough," Rhaegar said, standing. "we should probably return before anyone looks for you, and I must report back to my father so he's not suspicious."

"Oh… does he suspect you had something to do with it? Even though you are his son?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "He suspects everyone. And I suppose there's no hiding that I am included in that."

Lyanna bit her lip, and then handed her shield to him. His eyes widened as he reflexively accepted the shield, and looked up at her questioningly.

"I'll be sad to part with it… but I can always paint another. I don't want you to be in trouble for failing your duty to your father though."

"I can't…"

"Please," she pressed the shield to him more insistently. "For my peace of mind."

His gaze softened. "Thank you… I shall do my best to prevent him from destroying it."

She nodded, and waited as he whistled to his horse, and then helped her climb on. He took them through another circuitous route through the woods, until they must have lost any other search parties and reached the edge of the woods that looped back toward camp.

"Will you be all right from here?" he asked. "Straight ahead are the pastures of Harrenhal… and then the camp should be further down. I'm afraid I cannot escort you further, as I cannot exactly appear with anyone else, if I am to claim I lost the knight's trail."

"Yes, this is fine," Lyanna said, though she couldn't help the disappointment she felt at the parting. When would she be able to see him again? The thought of never having another conversation with him made her chest hurt, and she found that she was unwilling to leave him. But she forced herself to get off his horse and look toward camp. Her feet, however, were refused to go.

"I…"

"Yes?"

She steeled herself. "I actually still had more questions for you. About dragons. And… and the history of Valyria… I… Can I see you again to ask?"

She knew it was unorthodox. She knew it was bold and probably wrong of her, and she was too afraid to examine more closely the motivations that drove her. But she also knew she had to say something. If she didn't, she would go through the rest of her life wondering about what-ifs and roads not taken. This way, she would know for sure.

He was caught off-guard by her request. He hesitated, a myriad of emotions crossing his face as he debated with himself, while she tried hard not to fidget and looked imploringly at him.

"I… I suppose it would not hurt… now that we are friends," he said, almost as if to himself. She felt her heart pound, stupid hope and elation rising as he continued, "And I know Elia quite liked you after meeting you this morning. She would surely be happy to see you again…"

As he said that, she saw resolution come over him. "Yes, if it pleases you, you are welcome to visit our camp. My father is not staying near me, so there is no need to worry about him, but Arthur and his sister Ashara will probably be there, if it is no trouble?"

"Oh none at all! I'd love to talk with all of them more."

He smiled at that. "I'm glad you already have a good impression of them. We usually retire from the public eye about three hours after nightfall. If you would like to continue this conversation tonight, I will ask Ashara to meet you just behind our camp so as to keep things discreet… I hope you will forgive me, but I do not want unwarranted talk that I'm trying to curry secret political ties with the Stark Family to start, especially now that my father is here."

"Of course, I understand the need for discretion," she said with a rush of relief and excitement, unable to stop the wide smile from crossing her face at the thought of seeing him again that evening. "I will tell everyone I'm going to sleep early, and they surely won't bother me tonight. I'll be happy to meet you, all of you, again."

His smile widened as well. "Then… it's settled," he said, echoing her earlier words. "I shall see you later."

"Thank you, my prince," she said, remembering herself and curtseying. A strange look crossed his face at that, and he shook his head.

"Don't call me that… in private at least. If we are friends now, please… just call me Rhaegar."

She was stunned and felt a flush rise in her cheeks but could not ignore a direct request. "Rhaegar," she tested the name, enjoying the taste of it on her tongue. She grinned. "Okay… then, Rhaegar. I hope you will call me Lyanna then."

He looked rather amused but complied. "Lyanna, then."

She had to hide another excited shiver at that. The sound of her name in his voice did things to her. Her stomach was doing that strange flip-flopping again, almost like indigestion, but in a weirdly good way. Was there even such a thing as good indigestion? Perhaps Rhaegar would know… and now she would have a chance to ask him. The thought filled her with unprecedented joy.

They parted ways at last. Lyanna couldn't help the slight spring in her step as she made her way back toward camp. Her head felt as if it was in the clouds as she replayed every second of their interaction over and over, alternating between wanting to giggle in happiness and flushing in embarrassment at some of the weirder things she'd said. She was lucky she didn't meet anyone on her way back to her tent, or there surely would have been awkward questions about her mood. By the time she heard her brothers coming back, she had finally regained some sense of control over her expression and was able to fake having missed all the commotion of the joust well enough.

"They say even the royal search party couldn't find the knight," Ned was telling them as he sat down for their evening meal. "The Prince himself looked, along with Ser Oswell Whent, but they had no luck."

"Hmm, yes, King Aerys was quite livid," their father, Lord Rickard Stark said solemnly. "I was half afraid he would strike Prince Rhaegar when he returned with his hands empty save for the knight's shield."

"He didn't though?" Lyanna asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

"No, Ser Barristan thankfully restrained him. The Prince claims that he found the shield abandoned in the woods and all traces of the knight gone. It was more than anyone else recovered, so Aerys could not fault his son."

"You should have seen the knight though, Lya!" Benjen said excitedly. "He was so great… made all three of those lousy squires eat dirt and then some."

"Yeah, they were really awesome," Howland chimed in with a grin. Lyanna smiled, gratified that Howland was feeling better, though she also reminded herself that she needed to tell him to stand up for himself as well.

"Well, I'm glad _someone _managed to teach those bullies a lesson," she said, and Ned and Benjen nodded in agreement.

Brandon, however, shot her a suspicious look. "You sure you didn't hear anything, Lya?" he asked.

"Nothing…" Lyanna said, frowning at him. "I was sleeping for most of that time, and our camp isn't that close to the jousting site. I dare you try to pay attention to other things going on when you're dealing with a headache and cramps and-"

"Okay, okay!" Brandon cut her off before she could continue, shuddering. "I'm glad you're feeling better anyhow. You're not mad at me anymore?"

She smiled at her brother, who did look genuinely sorry. "No… as long as you help me decide the colour of my next handkerchief _and _dress _and _let me coordinate your outfit for the closing ceremonies."

Brandon groaned while her other brothers laughed. Her father just shook his head fondly at his children.

She turned in early, claiming residuals of her headache and a need for peace and quiet. None were the wiser as she waited for night to come, and then pulled on her darkest cloak and crept out of her tent. No one noticed the small figure flitting past the various campsites toward the royal one, which was thankfully a distance away and removed from the rest of theirs, making sneaking there discreetly easier.

Lady Ashara Dayne met her at the edge of their campsite, as promised. The beautiful Dornish woman had an amused sparkle in her eye, and greeted Lyanna with a familiarity that surprised her.

"Welcome, Lady Lyanna. I do hope all of us can get to know each other better."

There was a knowing glint in her eyes, one that made Lyanna blush. But she did not let it bother her as she continued forward toward the warmly glowing tent, her heart filled with excitement and anticipation.

* * *

19/04/06 edit: It is has been brought to my attention that I made a mistake about the warriors in the North and the fact that there aren't many knights. Ooops, that's my bad... at the moment, I don't think I have much time to rework the chapter, so I hope you can just overlook this fail on my part (and any other mistakes of the like) and enjoy the spirit of the story. I will try to rework those parts at a later date (when I am less short on time).

_**Author's note:**_

So… this wasn't meant to be this long, but I got carried away and kinda reverted back to my old habits of (very) long chapters. It won't always be like this I don't think?

Anyways, there's not much to say, except that the idea of 'good indigestion' is a shoutout and homage to emletish, a writer of some of the best ATLA fanfics I've ever read, that have made me both laugh and want to cry and really think about life. I really cannot recommend her enough if you are into ATLA (though of course her pairings may not be your cup of tea, but she just writes the characters sooooo well that it might still be worth checking out). I must also confess she's my inspiration for writing down my rambly chapter notes/thoughts.

Also, I am endlessly entertained by the idea that calling Rhaegar 'bookish' and 'reads a lot' is just a more elegant way saying that he's a nerd. I'm convinced that before he decided he had to be a warrior after all, he pretty much was a complete nerd (and I say that with all the love in the world to my fellow nerds out there). If that term existed in Westeros, Lyanna would have been the first to call him that.

_**Chapter notes**_:

I also don't have much to comment here. I realize that the new season is starting very, very soon… another trailer just dropped, after all, and I am ready for all my story ideas to be contradicted. Still, I'm pretty sure I will continue to follow my original plan, since who knows, the books might be different and might have some things more similar. I will probably only be able to get one more chapter out before the season premiere, which will probably be the first of my few two planned flashback chapters. Hopefully if I don't get delayed…. *nervous laugh*

As always, thank you for reading!


	5. Blackfyre

_Oops, this is another long one. Once again, please forgive me for any discrepancies or mistakes… this one goes very far into the realms of speculation, and I'm sure there are some details that don't match, but just fit overall for storytelling purposes. I wanted to get this up before the first episode aired over here in North America, so any other spelling and grammar mistakes I will try to clean up at a later date as well! Please enjoy!_

* * *

**Blackfyre**

It became a habit for Lyanna to sneak off to Rhaegar's tent after nightfall for the rest of the Tourney. It was one of the only times, apart from when she was with her family, where she felt she could speak freely, laugh, and feel more herself. She found great companionship in Princess Elia, as well as Ser Arthur Dayne and his sister Lady Ashara Dayne. The three Dornish nobles were surprisingly easy to talk to, despite having grown up in a very different environment compared to Lyanna's own. For all her fragility, she found Elia to be a quietly witty woman, while Ashara was playful and bold. Arthur Dayne was perhaps the most different from his public image of a serious knight, often grinning and never missing a chance to land a snarky and savage remark.

But it was her conversations with Rhaegar that she cherished the most. Away from the public, he allowed more of his real self to show. And though he sometimes lapsed into bouts of melancholy, he was for the most part able to maintain light conversation, meeting any of Arthur's snark with his own brand of straight-faced sarcasm, and occasionally more subtly clever and playful responses. These he mostly bestowed to Lyanna, a fact that she couldn't help notice and cherish.

Due to Elia's poor health, however, she never stayed with them to talk long, retiring after a short time to a secondary, private section of the tent that presumably held the sleeping quarters. The first night Lyanna had felt rather awkward, wondering if she should leave. But Elia quickly assured her that she should stay after taking the trouble to come all the way here, and that she shouldn't cut this meeting short on her account. Ashara followed Elia, citing concern for her friend, while Arthur offered to check outside to make sure no one was around, presumably in his role as a Kingsgaurd.

Left alone with Rhaegar, Lyanna was unable to help scooting a little closer, asking him more personal questions (after all, they'd technically already talked about the dragons and Valyria, which she'd originally had as her excuse to see him again). They started off innocently enough, mostly about what he usually did in King's Landing. She was most amused to learn that he liked to play his harp for the people in the city, and often made good money from his listeners. This money he normally distributed to various people in need, such as orphanages or other struggling minstrels, but he admitted to one less admirable time when he used the funds for alcohol instead.

"Well, all I can say for myself is that I will never make the same mistake again, and I thank the gods that Ser Barristan was there to make sure nothing happened, despite being quite drunk himself," he said ruefully amid peals of laughter from Lyanna.

"That is one thing I would never have expected of you," she managed to choke out between her giggles. "You always seem so proper and all."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "I suppose… but I was curious. I'd never allowed myself to become drunk before that, and I wanted to know how much alcohol it would take, what it would feel like, and how long it would take to wear off… granted, I probably did not keep the best record of observations considering my state of inebriation, but I have also learnt the precise amount over which I should _never _exceed lest I want to make a fool of myself again."

She giggled again, trying hard not to tease him again. Of _course _he would have had that sort of motive.

He turned the questions upon her then, asking her how she knew how to joust, and how much her brothers knew. She told them that her father had never allowed her to learn, despite her having expressed a desire to do so. Instead, she'd taken to watching her brothers practice during the day time, and then practice the moves at night with a training foil she'd stolen from the stores and hidden in her rooms. As she got older, she even began sneaking out at night to go to the training area to practice with the heavier foils, and eventually even a dulled, but nonetheless real, sword. Eventually, Brandon had found out what she was doing, and even tried to teach her a little.

"I have to say I am probably closest to him,' she admitted. "Brandon and I understand each other on a level that Ned and Ben often don't… my father says it's because we're both the most wild and wolfish of his children. I suppose that might be true, since we're usually the first to argue, compared the others."

"I am glad he was able to assist you," Rhaegar said with some amusement.

Lyanna sighed and shook her head. "At first, he did. But once I started to 'change into a woman' he stopped, saying I should focus on being a lady instead so I can find a good match. I understood his reasoning, but it still annoyed me, so I went back to practicing in secret. I think he knows I never stopped, but thankfully hasn't brought it up to my father. I think Ned and Ben probably also have their suspicions, but they haven't confronted me about it yet, which I prefer. I honestly would not know what to say in response if they did."

He looked on in admiration as she continued to describe the lengths she went to learn, and a small smile crossed his face once or twice at her more amusing stories of the various shenanigans she'd gotten up to in the process, including switching out bent foils surreptitiously and convincing her brothers that they'd been the one to break them.

"I hated the fact that being a woman meant that I couldn't be a warrior as well. I mean… I don't exactly _mind _all other parts of being a lady… but I couldn't understand why I couldn't have both."

"It is a shame, isn't it?" Rhaegar agreed, "That we deny those who really want to learn due to such a simple and banal reason. That the way we were born dictates what we must be and what we must do."

She tilted her head curiously. "I… I'm curious. I heard you actually did not learn how to fight until late..."

He glanced at her. "No, I must confess I never had any interest in it, nor took pleasure in such arts"

"But surely you do now?" she asked. "After all, you are so good at it."

At that, a sad look crossed his face, along with a troubled shadow. "Perhaps it is _because _I am good at it that I hate it. While I admit the physical exercise is extraordinarily good for clearing the mind, and it can be fun at times to spar, I generally derive no enjoyment in these things, even if I am good at it. I've always seen it as a necessary skill. That is why I admire you for your resilience in wanting to learn and finding enjoyment in such activities. Perhaps… you can help me see it in a different point of view."

He was deflecting. She was sure there was something more to it than that. She knew he was a pacifist, but that didn't entirely explain his aversion to being a warrior. His family had many famed warriors in their bloodline, after all, so surely it should have been natural for him?

"I don't understand," she said softly, holding his gaze gently but firmly. "I know there are those who don't prefer being a warrior… but… why do you seem so conflicted about it? Why, when it could help you protect your countrymen, and protect those you care about?"

She thought he was not going to answer at first. Indeed, he had become closed off, introspective, his eyes focused on a scene from far away.

"It is… perhaps a foolish reason considering the world we live in," he said softly at last.

She shook her head. "You can tell me. I've just told you about all my various embarrassing escapades during my childhood."

A small smile crossed his face for a moment at the reminder, but he quickly grew sad again.

"No… I wish it was something as light and silly as that… but the truth is perhaps a bit darker."

He looked her into the eyes then, his face more solemn than ever. "I was sixteen when I first killed a man, and that moment will haunt me for the rest of my life. No matter how much battles I fight or how much more death I witness, I shall never forget how it was to watch him die before my very eyes…"

~line break~

It had happened in Essos. He had been there on a tour of the Free Cities, and I=it had been an exciting thing for him, at the time. A chance to escape the confines of court, to visit foreign lands and learn of their culture and absorb their wisdom… everything his scholarly heart could have wanted.

Of course, that wasn't the only reason. His father had agreed it would be a show of good faith for him to visit the rulers of some of these Free Cities, especially those with a stronger Valyrian presence like Lys. It had been the only reason his father had let him go, since he had originally been adamant about keeping him in King's Landing and training more, now that he had finally shown interest in learning to be a warrior. But his mother had spoken up for him, along with Ser Willem Darry, who vouched that he had been dedicated to his training and could do with a small break. Eventually, his father had relented and allowed him go as far as the Lysene court.

And so he'd set off, with his friend Arthur Dayne accompanying him, and an entourage of knights and guards, including Ser Oswell Whent, to keep him safe. His other friend Jon Conington was supposed to come with them originally, but had been delayed by some trouble at his home of Griffin's Roost. Despite that little setback, the trip went on as planned. They'd first traveled to Braavos, and from there made their way from free city to free city until they reached Lys. He had never seen so many new sights, learnt so many new things, as in those first couple of weeks. Arthur had teased him relentlessly for always scribbling notes furiously, enough that he'd gotten ink stains in several of his tunics.

His stay in Lys was smooth at the beginning. They'd made good headway with the courts, and though he did not have the authority to carve out any sort of trade deals, he did at least foster better rapport between the ruling nobility here and the Westerosi court. He was glad that all his study of diplomacy had been put to good use here, and he had been in fairly high spirits.

But his luck would run out later on, when he'd been curious about a festival of sorts being held on the outskirts of the city. It was said that many from Tyrosh, Myr, and even as far as Volantis would attend, and merchants would be showing off their wares there. It was a rarity for people of the three sisters of old Valyria to gather, considering their historical conflicts, so he'd been keen to observe how people would fair. He had hoped there wouldn't be any fights breaking out. He had not expected to be the one involved in them, or a different historical conflict to be its driver.

The afternoon had started off well enough. He'd convinced most of the guard to take time off, citing little danger here and wanting them to enjoy themselves. Besides, his friend Arthur was hailed as the best young swordsman of their generation, and Ser Oswell a seasoned Kingsguard, and the two put together would have been protection enough. He found himself relaxing more as he examined the stalls, watched several of the performances put on by some minstrels or puppeteers, and sampled the foreign foods offered at the market. It helped that Valyrian blood was stronger in the Free Cities, making his iconic silvery-gold hair and purple eyes common even among the common folk, especially in Lys. A quick change into a nondescript outfit easily hid his royal status, allowing him to blend in with the masses and move with more freedom.

Just as he was turning away from a minstrel performance, however, he witnessed a distressing scene in the distance. A group of rather rowdy men had just exited from one of the tents set about the carnival. The three Westerosi men had resolutely moved past that tent earlier, knowing that it was meant for those wanting to pay women for 'special services'. Rhaegar had not thought it to be any different than the brothels that existed in King's Landing, but it would appear the truth was a little more heartbreaking.

The man in the front was dragging a young woman by her arm. She must have been Naathi, judging by her skin, hair, and accent. She had grasp of only a few words of the bastard Valyrian spoken in the free cities, but they were enough for Rhaegar to understand.

"No… Stop… no… please… no!"

The man slapped her harshly across the face, enough that she fell at his feet. The others laughed and jeered, while he kicked her hard in the stomach once, and she choked, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed. This just set the others off more, and the man leered at her as he yanked her up by her hair.

"I paid good money for you to behave. Don't make me regret that, especially if you want to return in one piece!"

Anger boiled inside of Rhaegar at these words. He had been warned not to get involved in the less savory side of Essosi politics, and the slave trade in general. His great-great uncle Maester Aemon had warned him before he left that, being the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, every single one of his actions would be held under scrutiny by the Essosi ruling elite. Criticizing the way they did things was akin to a declaration of hostility by Westeros, and yet as merely a prince, he had nothing to back that up. And he knew his father would never bother with trying to stop the slave trade.

"It is not your kingdom, and not your battle to fight. If you get involved, you will do nothing but destroy the careful peace and trade we have with them, and it is not worth it, not in your current position."

So Rhaegar had reluctantly agreed to keep his mouth shut thus far. It had been easier inside Lys, where he generally had not seen such violent mistreatment of the slaves. But this man had gone much too far. He was not the owner of the girl, and even if Rhaegar couldn't free her from her situation, he could protest at the way she was being treated. If there was one thing he hated, it was seeing someone use their physical strength to bully those weaker than them and unable to fight back.

He headed toward the group before anyone could stop him and approached just as the man made to strike the girl, who had just struggled to her feet, once more. He caught the other's hand before the hit could land.

The man's eyes bulged out in shock, and the others around him fell silent, clearly not having expected someone to interfere.

"I think that's enough," he said quietly. He had studied the way the people spoke in Lys carefully and was able to use their lyrical dialect well enough to blend in. This man must have been of Valyrian descent as well, judging by his silvery hair and pale purple eyes.

The girl scurried back a little, cowering, but the other man's focus was no longer on her. Rage blazed in his eyes as he wrenched his arm out of Rhaegar's grasp.

"How dare you get in between a man and his fun!"

"I do not believe mistreating another woman constitutes as appropriate fun," Rhaegar said coldly. He saw Arthur and Oswell rush forward from the corner of his eye but kept his eyes on the other man. He had seen the man's hand inch forward the sword at his waist and knew that he had provoked a rather dangerous individual.

"Do you have any idea who I am, boy?" the man growled dangerously. "You have overstepped your place, challenging me."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "I didn't come looking for a fight. I merely intervened when I saw another person in need."

"Person," the man spat scornfully. "That wench is nothing more than property! But you… you have a death wish, don't you? In interfering, you have not only humiliated me, but besmirched the honour of the whole of House Blackfyre, and you shall suffer the consequences!"

At that, Rhaegar took a step back in shock. "Blackfyre?" he whispered, eyes wide. How? They were supposed to be wiped out. Ser Barristan Selmy was supposed to have killed the last of the Blackfyre Pretenders years ago.

Seeing his surprise, the man smirked sadistically. "Properly afraid now are we? Remember my name well, as the one who will end you, Aenys Blackfyre!"

With that, he lunged at Rhaegar, clearly intending to strangle him with his bare hands. Rhaegar sidestepped and dodged easily. But before either could make another move, Ser Oswell rushed forward, stepping between them and stopping Aenys's advance with his sword.

"Enough! This is going too far. We are leaving."

Rhaegar felt dismay go through him as Aenys's eyes bugged in surprise at Oswell's words. Ser Oswell knew limited Valyrian and could not imitate the accent of the Free Cities. Moreover, he probably had not followed the conversation thus far. But Aenys must have immediately recognized Oswell's accent as Westerosi.

"Westeros…" he hissed, rage taking over his features at the dawning realization. "The blood of Old Valyria is limited in Westeros, is it not? So few families… and only one which would travel with such guards."

He had switched to the Westerosi common tongue, and murderous hatred blazed across his face. "I know who you must be… Targaryen…"

Oswell did not move, but it was clear he had not been expecting this change. His surprise must have given Aenys his answer.

Aenys let out a humorless laugh. "What luck… I have waited for the day to exact revenge for my father's death, and now one of you walked right into my arms! There are so few sons in this generation, isn't there? Only one… the poor Crown Prince, the only heir to his father's throne… handed to me on a silver platter. There is no better way to finally destroy you all! What a great day of luck!"

"If you want revenge for the death of your forefathers, you are looking for a knight of the Kingsguard, who is safe across the sea in Westeros," Arthur, who had studied Valyrian with Rhaegar and understood enough to know what was happening, spoke up.

"I don't care about the sodding knight who struck him down at the Stepstones," Aenys hissed. "He can be dealt with later. But it was House Targaryen that ordered the destruction of my family, is it not? Because none of you wanted to share inheritance of Westeros, though we are both descendants of Kings! But today… today I will do what my forefathers couldn't and finally kill off your branch!"

He drew his sword and pointed it at Rhaegar. "I challenge you, Targaryen Prince, to single combat!"

Rhaegar didn't move, and he knew Oswell would not budge. The Kingsguard inched closer, itching to slay the man threatening his prince's life.

"And if I refuse?" Rhaegar asked coolly.

"You're in no position to refuse me," Aenys snarled. "Surely you have not forgotten? Being the only son of Maelys I means that I inherited everything he had. Including the Golden Company! I have scores of seasoned fighters surrounding the area, and a half dozen with me now, and they will obey any of my orders. You will not escape this alive."

The threat was very real. Rhaegar could see that the men with Aenys had their hands on their own swords. He had belief that Oswell, Arthur, and himself might be able to take them on, but if Aenys was being truthful about the Golden Company, then the danger stretched far beyond the festival grounds.

Seeing his hesitation, Aenys continued with a sadistic grin. "And that is not all. If you refuse me, I will order my men to slaughter every last person at this festival. We have no contract as of right now, and may kill whoever we please. Every man, woman, and child here… their blood will be on your hands. Starting with her," he pointed his sword at the Naathi girl, who whimpered in fear, turning her golden eyes pleadingly upon Rhaegar.

It was her eyes that did it. The look of terror in them, of utter helplessness, awoke something in him. For a moment, Rhaegar remembered another small boy, cowering under his mother's bed defenselessly while she screamed in pain as his father struck her. He remembered the despair of being able to do nothing, the fear of the man much bigger and stronger than himself, the vulnerability of being at that monster's whims.

"I will accept your challenge with a condition of my own," Rhaegar said quietly, despite Arthur and Oswell's protests. "That you take your men and leave this area if I win."

Aenys scoffed. "_You_ want to add a condition? Are you really in a place to bargain? Did I just not say that I will have my men kill you all?"

"It is a small request. After all, you are after my crown and my life, and I ask nothing more than that you leave this place. It is hardly a challenge if we do not both place a bet."

Aenys considered him. His men waited with bated breaths, as did the gathering crowd around them. Then, at last, he gave one jerky nod.

"All right."

'No! My prince, I beg you to reconsider," Oswell whirled on Rhaegar.

Rhaegar shook his head. "He's right. It is my fault… all of these people's lives are in danger because of my actions," he let out a small humorless chuckle. "Maester Aemon was right… I should not have interfered."

"You don't have to put your life in danger like that," Arthur hissed.

"It is mine, or the lives of everyone here. They are in danger on my account, and I cannot allow that."

At Arthur's look of worry, he lowered his voice some more. "Come Art, surely you have some confidence in me? Did you not see the way he keeps his weight on his left foot? I suspect a recently healed injury to his right ankle. He is not in his top form."

"Are you insane? Even with that, he's twice your size! And you haven't even been knighted yet," Arthur snapped back angrily. Rhaegar shushed him, though he knew some of Aenys's men must have heard Arthur's words, for they smirked.

"That doesn't matter. You know that I've been doing well in my training. I even beat you in sparring the other day."

Arthur shook his head, but Rhaegar put a hand on his shoulder, stopping further protests. "Art… I have to do this… You know there isn't any other choice."

His friend gave him a desperate look. Rhaegar turned away, feeling guilt at the hurt and anxiety he'd caused his friend. Oswell's face was set in an unhappy mask, but as a Kingsguard he could not refuse Rhaegar's order to stand back.

The others stepped back, giving a clearer area. Rhaegar drew his ownsword as he faced his opponent. Aenys smirked as he pointed his weapon at Rhaegar. Rhaegar saw from the dark swirls that it was a Valyrian Steel blade, and tensed at the realization. Valyrian Steel was lighter and sharper than normal swords, meaning Aenys would expend much less energy in any attack. Moreover, there was something familiar about the sword, though he had never seen it before. Something about it seem to call out to him.

He didn't have more time to dwell on it. Aenys was never one to wait for his opponent to make the first move and lunged. Rhaegar reacted quickly, sidestepping and blocking Aenys's next attack. His opponent didn't hesitate, and launched a flurry of attacks at him, which he was only able to parry through quick reflexes. The man hit hard with each stroke, and Rhaegar could just barely keep himself from buckling under the onslaught. If he had missed any block, he would surely have been sliced in half by now.

This would not be a battle he would win through physical strength.

Still, he thought inwardly to himself, he had never used strength as his main tactic. Being only a squire of sixteen who had not finished growing, most of the knights who trained him were often more physically imposing. Instead, he usually relied on his agility and stamina to win a sparring match. And he used that to his advantage now, constantly stepping around his opponent and luring him into making more and more attacks. He could hear cheers from Aenys's men, egging him on to finish the fight. He could see a mixture of condescension and frustration grow upon Aenys's face as Rhaegar never seemed to make an attack, but also never let him land one hit.

It was this temper that Rhaegar put to his advantage. He knew his best bet would be to tire Aenys out first. The man always favoured flourishing, dramatic strikes, or perhaps that was because he believed he had the upper hand. He was not even taking the advantage a Valyrian Steel blade afforded him.

"Is this it?" Aenys taunted scornfully, giving him a derisive look as Rhaegar barely blocked another one of his strikes. "Is this the strength of what is left of House Targaryen? You have fallen far to rely on such a milksop for a Prince!"

There was laughter, but Rhaegar barely heard them. He took a side step backwards, leading Aenys in a trajectory toward his men. Aenys, seeing this opportunity to kill Rhaegar in front of an audience, made an extra exuberant forward thrust. But Rhaegar had predicted this would be his react, and had already been ready to duck away and dodge, before swinging his own sword at Aenys for the first time. Aenys blocked, though Rhaegar's sword had whistled dangerously close to his face for a moment. Rhaegar jumped back before Aenys could retaliate, but Aenys faltered and hesitated for a moment, clearly having not been expecting an attack. Annoyance crossed his face as he doubled his efforts again, and though his hits were stronger, his movements had grown more erratic. Rhaegar felt an inward sense of triumph.

"_A battle is not a match of strength, but a match of wits," _he remembered reading once. _"It is not necessarily the one with the best weapon or greatest size who wins, but the one who can use his environment and opponent to his advantage, while putting his adversary at a disadvantage."_

Aenys was a strong warrior. But he relied on brute force. And while this had carried him thus far, it would not last forever. As the duel dragged on and on, Rhaegar could feel that his opponent's strikes weakening, hear his breath coming in sharper and sharper gasps with exertion and frustration. The man's steps were less graceful, especially on his recently healed ankle, which seemed to be hurting him more. Of course this was no coincidence, for Rhaegar had kept on the defensive, ducking, blocking, and dodging, but consistently and purposefully lured him into attacking from the right, goading him into putting weight on his weak foot. Aenys did not seem to have realized this, and just redoubled his efforts as yells of rage and curses escaped his lips. Rhaegar meanwhile remained resolutely calm, ignoring the shouts in the air, and focusing only on that which would help him.

As Aenys made another stronger attack, a downward swing that made Rhaegar's knees buckle slightly. But he did not let that deter him, and allowed himself to fall. Aenys was surprised at the sudden lack of resistance, but Rhaegar was faster. He rolled to the side, taking the risk of leaving himself open to attack to throw up dust to obscure Aenys's view, while Aenys's sharp blade lodged into the hardened dirt. Before his opponent had time to straighten and recover, Rhaegar had scrambled to a crouch behind him, and made a sharp slice against Aenys's legs.

The man screamed in rage, faltering as the pain hit him. Though the wound was not deep, it had damaged the muscles of his calves and his rhythm was broken. It was now that Rhaegar finally changed tactics and went on the offensive. Aenys's eyes widened as he whirled around to block Rhaegar's first strike and found himself on the defensive for the first time. Rhaegar used his superior agility to weave around his opponent, striking at him from a different angle each time and not allowing Aenys much time to think or plan a counterattack.

"Damn you!" Aenys yelled out, incensed.

Rhaegar did not bother answering. His mind had shut off all unnecessary thought, and he was single-minded in his goal. Tire and incapacitate. Force him to yield.

Blood pounded in his ears, and his own breathing had grown faster with exertion. He could feel sweat beading upon his forehead, and his muscles burning. But his mind was calm, and his body had reached a sort of equilibrium where he knew he could keep going as long as he did not lose his pace. The warrior blood within him rose to the surface for the first time, the strength of a dragon flowing through his body, carrying him on. He thanked the gods above that he'd taken time to study other types of swordplay, aside from Westerosi styles, and could employ every trick he knew to make his moves difficult to predict. He could see each opening as they appeared, took them without stopping. Even when Aenys managed to launch a strike of his own, he would block or twist to the side, merging the defensive movement with his next counterattack. _Just a little more…_

And there! He saw his opening at last. A wide swing by his opponent, which he had dodged, but had also left Aenys's right side open and his sword arm exposed. With all the deftness he could muster, he thrust his sword forward and flicked the blade downward, making a sharp cut along the crook of the man's elbow. The wound made Aenys gasp in surprise, pain causing his grip to loosen for a moment. Rhaegar did not hesitate, and swung his sword back up, catching the hilt of Aenys's sword with his blade and yanking it back. The sword spun out of the other man's grasp, thankfully toward where Arthur and Oswell stood so that Aenys's allies could not help by returning the weapon. Then, before the man had a chance to react, he lunged forward again, ramming the pommel of his sword hard into Aenys's stomach.

The action made Aenys gasp and cough painfully as the wind was forcibly ejected out of his lungs. He stumbled backwards and lost his footing, falling to the ground. He barely had time to look up again before the tip of Rhaegar's sword was against his neck.

"Do you yield?" Rhaegar asked in a low voice.

Aenys's eyes were wide with shock. But as he moved, he must have felt the tip of Rhaegar's blade nick at his neck, and froze. His eyes narrowed as he looked up slowly.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, their purple eyes both blazing with high intensity, a battle of wills making the tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. Both of them were breathing heavily. Rhaegar felt his lungs burning, but he kept his face as stern and unperturbed as possible. Aenys's eyes were filled with hate as he glared at him. But he didn't dare move for fear of his throat being torn to shreds. Rhaegar held steadfast, his eyes narrowed and determined as he stared the older man down.

"Yield now," Rhaegar repeated. "And this will be put behind us. I will not kill you."

The others waited with bated breath. Rhaegar could sense Arthur's growing panic, and Ser Oswell's fingers itching to draw his sword. But at last, Aenys spat at him, missed, but gave a jerk with a chin that signified a nod.

"I yield," he snarled bitterly.

Rhaegar let out a silent breath as many in the crowd of onlookers cheered, and the few others of the Golden Company let out a groan, though a few looked at him with grudging respect. He couldn't help the sense of achievement that flowed through him along with the relief. It had been his first real duel, and he'd won. Despite the short time he'd been training, he'd somehow pulled through. A small burst of pride filled him as he remembered all his previous detractors that had whispered he would be a useless warrior, that he would never be able to master the warrior arts because he'd started so late. They were doubts he himself had been plagued with, though he had never shown it. Now… he had proven to himself that he _was_ capable, _was _able to learn.

He waited until Aenys had fallen back against the ground, the tension in his body gone, before stepping back at last and sheathing his own sword. He offered his hand to help the other up, but Aenys growled and slapped the proffered hand away, resolutely stood by himself. Rhaegar shrugged, not letting it bother him, and turned to head back to Arthur and Oswell's side.

What happened next could not have lasted longer than fifteen seconds, but would forever be the longest fifteen of his life.

There had been a shout, a roar of rage. He'd whirled around and saw, almost as if in slow motion, Aenys picking his sword up from the ground and lunging at him. Rhaegar felt as if his brain had shut down in surprise. Or at least the part that governed his emotions, leaving behind only an eerie silence and calm.

His body moved, almost as if on instinct, as if something else was driving him, and he twisted out of the way of the fatal blow. Time had slowed, and every action seemed strangely simple. His hands grasped Aenys's wrist, the hand holding the sword, and he twisted the hand backward toward Aenys at the same time Aenys had been about to raise his sword and attack again. Blood pounded in his ears, and the only thing on his mind was to get the dangerous weapon away from himself. _Turn his strength against him, use his attack against him, _a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, at the edge of his consciousness.

He could not have predicted that the sword would veer wildly. He could not have foreseen that, caught by surprise, Aenys offered surprisingly little resistance, and that the force of his counterattack would overshoot. He had forgotten that Valyrian Steel was so light and so sharp and so very deadly.

His eyes were wide as he felt the blade easily slice into flesh, like a hot knife through butter. He saw blood suddenly spurt from the man's neck and felt warm droplets splatter onto his face.

For a long moment, his eyes were locked with Aenys's. Both wide with shock, purple to purple… and then, Aenys's pupils began to grow larger, his gaze becoming glassy and unfocused, and he crumpled. His grip on the sword loosened, and, almost unconsciously, Rhaegar grasped the hilt in his place. He stood, frozen, as the man's heavy form slid away from the blade and fell into the dirt, still, broken. His life's blood gushed continuously from the wide gash that had been sliced open in his neck, mixing with the dust and also flowing down the blade of the sword and onto Rhaegar's hands.

Dead.

He hadn't even had time to scream before death took him.

No one spoke for a moment. It had been so fast that few had had time to react, and still more were confused at what had just occurred. Rhaegar stood trembling, unable to break his eyes away from Aenys's half-open ones. He was vaguely aware of the others staring at him, but whether it was in horror or anger, he couldn't tell.

'Rhaegar?"

Arthur's quiet voice broke his shock, and sound and time came rushing back to normal. He dropped to his knees and tried desperately to staunch the wound. "No, no, please…"

"Rhaegar, it's no use," Arthur said quietly. Rhaegar knew that. The blade had neatly severed the man's major blood vessels, and he'd already lost too much blood. The man wasn't even breathing anymore. But he refused to accept it. There had to be a way. There had to be…

Ser Oswell stepped forward then, his hand resting on the hilt of his own sword. He was glaring dangerously at the other knights from the Golden Company, as if daring them to come closer.

"Rhae," Arthur tried again. "It's too late… he's already dead."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to… I…"

He stared at his hands… red…tainted, there was so much red. An overwhelming urge to throw up filled him as the pungent and metallic smell of all the blood hit his nose, but he valiantly kept it down. He felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder, gripping him firmly in support.

"Well?" Oswell demanded. "Do you have something to say? Your leader attacked the Prince when his back was turned, a cowardly and dishonorable move. Do you still defend his actions?"

There were some mutters, and a few men bristled. The acute danger of the situation shifted Rhaegar out of his preoccupation of Aenys's corpse, and he glanced up, standing. Whatever happened next, he would face it straight on, standing tall and proud as befitted a dragon.

"He chose the way he died," a voice interrupted. A man stepped forward, a large, jug-eared man with a crooked jaw. Rhaegar looked up at him, and saw that his face was solemn, but not filled with rage as he'd expected.

"Aenys was known for his temper. He did not want to live with the shame of defeat, especially by the defeat at the hands of a Targaryen, and a young man not yet knighted. He had decided from the first slight that it would be a battle to the death. And the gods have spoken. He has paid for his cowardice with his life."

"You are?" Rhaegar asked softly.

"Myles Toyne," the man replied. "I was Aenys's second in command, and now that he is dead, I suppose I am the highest authority. I will honour the deal Aenys had made in his place. The duel is finished, and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is the victor. We will leave this area now, in peace. The matter is closed."

Arthur let out a breath, but Rhaegar felt no relief. He hesitated and held out Aenys's sword.

"I'm sorry… will you take his sword back?"

Myles paused, a strange look passing over his face.

"No. he forfeited the right to wield that blade when he lost, when he tried to use such a cowardly move. And perhaps it is more fitting that it returns to you, my lord."

Rhaegar blinked, confused. He glanced at the sword, and once again felt it was rather familiar… where had he seen it before? The beautiful swirls of the Valyrian steel, the elegant hilt and guard…

He gasped as he suddenly recognized it. A mix of feelings crashed through him… awe, nostalgia, disgust, anger, and guilt…

Glancing up, he saw Myles give him a solemn nod.

"Despite what he liked to claim, Aenys was no Blackfyre, but a bastard of Maelys, our last true Blackfyre leader. The only trueborn child Maelys had before his death was a daughter, whose whereabouts we're not even sure of now. That sword is an heirloom of only the legitimate sons of House Targaryen, and then later House Blackfyre after Daemon Blackfyre brought it with him to Essos. Now that Maelys is dead, there is no one left who is the rightful wielder of that blade amongst the Company. Perhaps that is why it betrayed Aenys in that final moment. Take it back with you, young prince, back to Westeros and back to House Targaryen. We want nothing more to do with Blackfyre."

With that, he signaled to the other men. Many looked at him with shock, and some hostility and unhappiness at his decision, but a quick glare from the fearsome man made them obey. After removing the sword's sheath from Aenys's body and handing it to a still stunned Rhaegar, some of the other men set about removing the corpse from the festival ground and yelling at the onlookers to scatter.

"We should go too," Arthur said quietly, tugging on Rhaegar's sleeve. "Come on, Rhae. Before the crowd gets chaotic."

Rhaegar just nodded silently, his mind filled with a million thoughts and a storm of emotions. But his mask was well-practiced by now, as well as his ability to push aside his own wants and needs. He stood straight, keeping his expression blank, as he turned away from the area again and strode back to their ship. Ser Oswell kept a watchful eye for any more potential treachery, while Arthur walked beside him, concerned about both his safety and well-being. He couldn't face either of them.

He kept it together until he made it to his quarters. It was then that he furiously tore off his bloodied clothes, trying to wipe the blood from his hands and face. He washed his hands again and again, but the image of red on them wouldn't fade him his eyes, and the rank and putrid smell of death filled his nose and made bile rise to his throat. It sat there, bitter and sour all at once, and he gasped, coughed, and swallowed, trying to rid himself of the sensation. His eyes burned, and he wrapped his arms around himself as if trying to shield himself against some invisible enemy, head against his knees and shaking silently.

It was how Arthur found him about half an hour later. He said nothing, just picked up the sword that Rhaegar and flung aside, and carefully wiped it clean before sheathing it and putting it in a corner. Then, he came over and sat beside him. For a while, he said nothing, just offering the support of his presence. Then, he sighed.

"It was self-defense, Rhae," he said softly.

Rhaegar didn't reply. Arthur nudged him. "Look, as harsh as it might be, you knew this would one day happen. I… I know the first time is hard… and I guess for you it's especially hard since you've always been such a pacifist, but… this is the world we live in. So often, it's kill or be killed, and we have no choice but to use violent force. If you'd hesitated to act, it would have been you lying dead in the dirt."

Still nothing. Arthur just waited, and after a moment, Rhaegar forced himself to look up.

"I'm not stupid, Arthur. I knew it would happen one day. But I'd always thought it would be in battle, that I would be fighting to protect my land or my family. Aenys… he didn't have to die. He'd already yielded and… and I killed him… I killed him using his own weapon… I could have just dodged, I could have aimed a little more to the left so it just hit his shoulder… he didn't have to die…"

Arthur put an arm around him. "I know. But it does no good to speak of paths not taken. It was an accident."

"But was it though?" Rhaegar said in a hollow voice. He looked at his hands. "It scares me, Arthur. What I'm capable of… how… how easily all this comes to me. In that moment, even without thinking clearly, I knew what to do. I knew how I could avoid him, how I could turn his strength against him… it was almost too easy… even if I didn't mean for him to die, it's still my fault."

"It just means that you're a natural," Arthur said, shrugging. "It sure would prove all those snide soldiers in King's Landing who said you'd never be good enough wrong. And I will have to concede I'm no longer the only prodigy in the Seven Kingdoms."

The last line was delivered rather cheekily, meant to make him laugh, but it only made a wave of sadness go through him again. Arthur sensed the change, and grew serious.

"Come on, tell me what the real problem is?"

"You say I'm good at it… a natural at this… this fighting and killing… but I don't want to become like my father," he said quietly. There it was: that deepest, darkest fear. Aerys's shadow always hung over him, no matter how much he tried to distance himself. So many things in life had been tainted… his pride for his Valyrian heritage, his love of fire and hot temperatures, his warrior abilities… did it come from his innate self, or did it come from his father? Did him being Aerys's son mean he would be doomed to become like him, a sadistic madman who enjoyed the pain of others?

Arthur snorted. "I'm not sure I understand the connection. So what if you are good at it? You've had strong warriors all over your bloodline… though of course not as good as us Daynes. And besides your father might like fighting, but was not even that good, so I doubt it really came from him. So many in the Kingdom dream of being renowned knights of having so much skill. You should be happy to have it already."

"Ser Lewyn always says that we enjoy doing what we are good at. But I don't. Not when it comes to this. I never have and never will like fighting and killing."

"I didn't say you have to enjoy it," Arthur said, more gently now. "But… respect it. Be grateful for it, since it saved your life today."

Rhaegar closed his eyes. he could still see Aenys's last moments, his purple eyes, so like Rhaegar's own, filled with shock and a flicker of fear and understanding of his imminent end. He would never forget how it looked as the light snuffed out, how the man's face grew slack as his pupils dilated and became unseeing. He would never forget what it's like to see the life fade from another's eyes.

~line break~

The incident had thankfully occurred close to when they were supposed to leave Lys, and so they'd decided to cut their stay short. They made their excuses to the nobles there and hurriedly began to load their ship for sail back to Westeros. Rhaegar had volunteered to help out, partially because he felt bad leaving everything to the crew, and partially to get his mind off the incident. His sleep had been restless, haunted by the memory of Aenys's dead face.

However, he had barely been at it for an hour before Ser Oswell approached him.

"Prince Rhaegar, a word if you please?"

He thought about refusing. He knew that Ser Oswell wanted to talk about what had happened, and he wasn't sure he was ready yet. Opening up to Arthur was easy, since Arthur was as close to him as a real brother. But he hadn't had any idea how to speak to anyone else about the incident. The other soldiers must have heard, and though most kept their mouth shut, sensing their prince's reticence, he could tell they were treating him differently.

"My prince… it is important."

He let out a breath.

"All right. We shall speak in my quarters."

They made their way there. Arthur saw them on the way and joined their party without a word. Oswell frowned, but said nothing, allowing the young Dayne to accompany them. Rhaegar shut his door firmly, and faced the older knight.

"What's on your mind, Ser Oswell?" he asked politely.

Oswell gave him a sad look. "I know it must not be easy, my prince. The first time…"

Rhaegar held up a hand. "Please, Ser Oswell. Not now. I…"

Oswell acquiesced. "I understand. But if you ever wish to speak to someone, I am available, and I will not judge."

Rhaegar felt a flood of gratitude for the knight, gratitude and affection. Ser Oswell had ever been dutiful and loyal as a Kingsguard. Rhaegar hadn't had much of a chance to interact with him before his training, but had always found him quite interesting. He could somehow make a joke at the even the darkest times, though admittedly his jokes were often dark and morbid. But he also knew when to rein that part of himself back, and at this moment, he was nothing but sincere.

"I trust you have more you wish to say?" he asked softly.

Oswell nodded. "The other men do not know the details of the incident. I have merely informed them that there was a minor scuffle, and that one of the Essosi sellswords challenged you to a duel, which you won. His identity, and what we gained afterwards, are known only to us in this room."

Rhaegar felt his gratitude for the knight grow. "Thank you, Ser Oswell. I am most grateful."

The man smiled a little. "Well, I do not believe that dark incident needed to be blackened further by unfounded gossip and speculation."

Arthur groaned a little at the bad pun, but Rhaegar appreciated the man's attempt to lighten the situation a little. Oswell shrugged at Arthur's reaction, but turned serious again.

"I also recognized the delicate political situation. But, if it is as Myles Toyne said to us, and Aenys was a bastard, then nothing needed to be said unless you wanted it to be known."

"No, I do not. Ser Barristan killed the last legitimate Blackfyre, and that should be the way it is recorded," Rhaegar said quickly. "I do not wish anyone to know I… to know that his son is also dead now, least of all my father. Aenys would never have been a threat to begin with, but even knowledge that he existed would be sure to drive his already precarious mind over the edge."

Ser Oswell nodded in agreement. "No, I do not believe this information would be relevant to His Grace. But… I still must ask, what will you do about Blackfyre?"

At that, Rhaegar glanced at the locked trunk beside his bed. Somehow, despite the daze he'd been the previous day he'd managed to have enough foresight to keep the blade hidden and wrapped in cloth as he'd made his way back. Thankfully, Blackfyre was a hand-and-a-half longsword, the same as he preferred to wield, and so no one remarked on his possessing it. Most assumed it had been a blade he'd purchased on a whim that afternoon, as long as he'd kept the blade sheathed to hide its Valyrian steel, and the elegant hilt and pommel hidden from sight. Despite his complex feelings toward a sword that has killed so many, that he had killed with, there was still a part of him that was in awe at holding his ancestral sword once more. So many Targaryen Kings had wielded the blade, including Aegon the Conqueror. No matter it's difficult history, a part of him still treated the blade with the reverence befitting such an heirloom.

Of course, he would bring it back to Westeros. But he knew that wasn't what Oswell was asking. He frowned as he appraised the man, thinking back to all that had happened thus far.

"Ser Oswell, if I asked you to keep it a secret from my father, would you do it?"

Oswell's eyes widened. "My Prince?"

"Are you mad?" Arthur hissed, interrupting. "If you keep something like that from him, he'd kill you!"

"Yes, and seeing it may drive him over the edge as well. How do you think it would look if I show up before him, holding the blade that was the heirloom of our house, that had for so long signified a Branch that threatened the very stability of our realm and tried to usurp House Targaryen's place? The last of the Blackfyre threat was eliminated less than fifteen years ago, and the realm is not yet ready to move on. You know he already doesn't trust me… this would just further cement that in his mind. Moreover, I cannot imagine of the havoc that would come from giving my father a blade that has tasted so much blood already."

"Hmm, you may have a point," Oswell remarked as Arthur frowned. "And it might just drive his feelings of grandeur over the edge to hold the ancestral sword of House Targaryen again. So then, what do you intend to do with it?" Oswell asked curiously.

"I will keep it hidden at Dragonstone. My father rarely goes there now, and I know many more hidden passages and rooms in that place than he does. Now that this sword rests with us, perhaps the threat from the Blackfyres is well and truly over. It should be laid to sleep for a while, at least until the danger from my father passes. Then, perhaps when the name is not so tainted any longer, we can put it to good use again."

As he spoke, an image flickered before his mind's eyes, a dream that had haunted him from time to time since he was a child. The whole of Westeros covered in snow and ash, a frigid cold wind that ravaged across the land, and cold hands of death snatching every man, woman, and child. He remembered the words of the mysterious woman in Summerhall, speaking of the coming winter. Much like the Doom of Valyria had ended that civilization in fire, it appeared Westeros may suffer an end in Ice. Unless something could be done to fight it. And no matter how much he might have hated fighting, he would do anything it took to save the land that his family had made their home, even if it meant killing again, even if it cost his life.

"I understand. I promise I will not speak a word to anyone else, not the King, and not even my other Kingsguard Brothers," Oswell said, breaking into his reverie.

Rhaegar looked up, a little surprised Oswell had agreed so easily. He'd been wondering how to make sure the Kingsguard did not say anything. At his surprise, Oswell gave him a soft look.

"I'm not a fool, Prince. Some in the Kingsguard may refuse to act or see it, may be too entrenched in tradition, but I will not hide the fact that I know the King is mad and unfit for the throne. A Kingsguard's duty is to the King, but also to the King's family. If King Aerys murders you, then we would be robbed of our future King. And I cannot allow that. So, if this secret will keep you safe, then my lips are sealed."

"That's a bit of a roundabout for your conscience, is it not?" Arthur asked. Oswell grinned.

"You're as cheeky as always, Arthur. While I am sworn to King Aerys I cannot openly oppose him. But I want you to know, my Prince, that I and so many others see you as our true leader, and we have all our hopes in you as our King, whether you hold the crown right now or not. I will protect you and your interests first and foremost. If you have anything you need of me, you have only to ask."

He dropped to his knee, and bowed. Rhaegar was stunned by this sudden declaration of loyalty. Behind Oswell's smile, his eyes were filled with conviction, and that alone almost overwhelmed him.

"I… thank you, Ser Oswell. I cannot tell you how much your words mean to me. I can only hope I can live up to your expectation."

Oswell just smiled. "Chin up, lad. You may still be young, but you are our Crown Prince, a dragon, and you should never forget to be proud of who you are. Just as I am proud to serve you."

He patted him once on the shoulder, just as he'd done once in congratulates after Rhaegar's first spar against him. It occurred to Rhaegar that Oswell no longer had to reach down to do so. In just the past year, he'd grown to the same height as the other knight, just as his skills as a warrior had developed and grown. Oswell must have noticed this fact as well.

"I also must add… despite your negative feelings toward it, the skills you displayed during that duel was exceptional. I believe you are ready to be knighted."

At that, Rhaegar stepped back, every fiber of his being screaming in protest. "No… I… not yet."

Arthur frowned at him. "Why? Don't you want to finally stop being a lowly squire and get on my level?"

Rhaegar shook his head firmly. "Not for this reason. I want to distinguish myself in another way, one that is more honourable. And… I want to have done it in Westeros, so no one can doubt I earned the title."

Ser Oswell just smiled in appreciation. "Wise choice, my prince. I for one cannot wait to see the expressions of your detractors once they see what you can really do. And I suppose I should not deny Ser Gerold or Ser Willem the honours, seeing as they have been so integral to your training. I was sure I saw some of their techniques implemented quite skillfully yesterday, along with some things you must have picked up in Essos. That sort of flexibility has served you well.'

Rhaegar flushed, but was unable to help feeling a slight glow at the praise from the older knight. It helped him frame the incident in a slightly less grisly light. Though of course, he would never truly be able to shake off the guilt, he also knew the event was a turning point for him. Any last shred of boyhood innocence on the duty of a knight and glory of a warrior was shed. He knew the weight of the responsibility he carried now. there was no turning back.

Conversation finished, they'd been content to move on. However, at that moment, there was a sharp knock on his door. Confused, Rhaegar opened the door slowly, and saw one of the crew members standing there.

"Prince Rhaegar… there are a group of men who want to see you.'

"Who are they?" he asked, tensing with trepidation.

The crew member shook his head, equally confused. "I think they're sellswords. The others have already taken their weapons and checked them for any signs of carrying poison or such… they are waiting on the deck."

He exchanged a look with Arthur and Ser Oswell. Could this been an attempt by the Golden Company at retaliation? He couldn't be sure… but waiting down here would bring no answers.

"Very well, I will meet them."

"We'll come," Arthur added, as if it was in question. Regardless, Rhaegar gave his friend a nod as they ascended to the deck to the bow of the ship.

The group was mostly unfamiliar, except for one man. Rhaegar recognized him as one who had been present during the duel yesterday. So they were from the Golden Company.

Arthur and Oswell must have recognized them as well, for both put their hands on the pommels of their swords. The leader amongst them quickly raised a hand, showing that they were empty.

"Please, my lord, we mean no harm."

"I find that hard to believe, considering the circumstances."

The man shook his head and bowed. 'My Prince. I beg leave of you to let us speak freely, but privately. It is a delicate matter, as I am sure you are aware."

Oswell gave Rhaegar a look, signaling that it was his prerogative. He took a deep breath.

"Leave us," he said to the other crew and soldiers watching. He would not risk bringing the men down into the bowels of the ship, where there was less space in the case of a fight. Besides, the wind was blowing away from the rest of the ship, and would not carry their voices there. He was curious as to what they have to say.

There were some protests, but Oswell gave them a look, and reluctantly, the other crew and soldiers obeyed. Rhaegar waited until they had descended into the ship before turning back to their visitors.

"Speak then."

The man looked grateful. "I thank you, Prince Rhaegar. Yes, I do know your name… though I was born here in Essos, my father an exile of Westeros after committing some admittedly terrible acts. But despite his crimes, he was ever a loyal man, and always kept an ear out for news from home. In fact, I think you will find that many of us in the Golden Company are exiles of Westeros, or the sons and grandsons of those exiles. Though we are no longer welcomed there, we still consider ourselves Westerosi."

The other men nodded in agreement. One other spoke up, "that or hedge knights that could never make a living there, and was forced to make our way in Essos."

The man nodded in agreement. "What I mean to say is, we are still loyal to Westeros, my lord."

Rhaegar frowned. "I do not follow. What would you possibly have to gain by telling me this? I cannot bring you back to Westeros with me. Only my father has the power to pardon you."

"It is not a pardon we seek at this moment, my prince. We already know we cannot so easily return, and many of us are probably more well off here as a part of the Golden Company.

"Then what…" he asked in confusion.

"We ask that you allow us to be counted amongst those who would serve you," the man said, and dropped to his knee. Rhaegar took a step back, having not expected this action, especially as the others followed suit.

"We can no longer be counted amongst the knights of Westeros now," the man said, nodding at Oswell and Arthur, "But we still wish to serve our homeland. We heard of what happened, my lord. You have defeated the last of the Blackfyre Line, securing your family's place as the sole ruling power of Westeros once more. There are many in the company who only want to serve the wielder of Blackfyre, and still more who have come after the rebellions, and wish only to serve their rightful rulers. My Lord, you are the owner of Blackfyre now, the mark of the true and legitimate Targaryen King. You have proven yourself as a worthy warrior when you defeated Aenys, a compassionate man when you stood up against the treatment of that girl, something we are ashamed that we did not do, and a monarch who would put the needs of the people first when you chose to risk your own life rather than put the lives of the innocent in danger. We wish to swear our fealty to you, Prince Rhaegar."

"I…" Rhaegar did not want this. He did not want his mistakes from the day before to be seen in such a light. They had only been in that situation because he'd foolishly interfered. A man had lost his life, because he'd stepped in when he'd been warned not to. But the words died in his throat at the look of conviction the man gave him.

"Aenys, and Maelys before him, were cruel and merciless men who only thought of themselves. Serving under them has made the reputation of the Golden Company fall. Though this world is a harsh one, we cannot but appreciate one that would act with honour. There are many of us in the Golden Company who are loyal to you, and you only. Though we cannot leave Essos, we wish for you to know that should you or your descendants ever have need of us, we will gladly ride out and fight for your cause."

He felt rather overwhelmed. This was the last thing he could have expected to come out of this situation.

"I have heard that the Golden Company's word is as good as gold," Oswell said suspiciously. "How can we be sure you mean what you say."

"Our word is as good as gold when it comes to anyone else who wishes to hire us. But beneath that, the bitter steel. We were founded by Aegor Rivers, who commanded us with Blackfyre. Beneath all our contracts, we always have one greater loyalty: to our leader, to the one worthy to wield Blackfyre. Our wish for our homeland, to serve our true Kingdom, overrides all. Perhaps, when you are King, and we have proven ourselves to you as worthy, perhaps one day that wish can be realized."

With that the men stood, and bowed once more. "We have said our piece. Once again, do not hesitate to call on us if you or your descendants should have need of our services."

With that, the men left. For a moment, Rhaegar did not know what to say, and Oswell just stared after where they left in suspicion.

"I don't trust them," Arthur said, breaking the silence at last.

Rhaegar let out a breath. "I do. As far as what they have told me, in any case."

At Arthur's look, Rhaegar gave him a wry, humorless smile. "They said those things not out of love or loyalty to me, but out of a wish to return to Westeros, as honorable knights rather than sellswords. It is as they said, their want of home is stronger than gold can buy."

"They wish for your good graces, so you may pardon them when you are King," Oswell said softly. "They know you do not have the ability now, but they see you claiming Blackfyre as a sign."

"So what will you do?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing, as of now," Rhaegar replied, glancing up at the sky. "Things are complex enough as it is. It is their choice who they wish to swear fealty to. But my duty first and foremost is to Westeros. If we ever need them, and they can truly prove themselves good for the Seven Kingdoms, then we shall cross that bridge when we get there."

Arthur grinned. "Sweep it under the rug for later, eh? Not your usual style, but I'll concede that's the only option right now."

Oswell let out a chuckle. "I shall let the other men know they can get back to work then. If there is anything else you two still need to do in Essos, I suggest you do so now before we leave."

He left them then. Arthur waited until Oswell was gone before slinging an arm over Rhaegar's shoulder.

"What are you doing." Rhaegar asked, confused and twisting away as his friend tried to muss up his hair.

"Awww, look at you, all grown up now and taking on the world," Arthur teased, pretending to wipe away a tear.

He spoke as if he was a proud mother. Rhaegar rolled his eyes.

"Please, you are barely a year older than I am."

"Enough to be technically your big brother, am I right?"

Rhaegar felt the smallest smile cross his face at that, despite himself. He would always be grateful for Arthur's presence in his life. He was truly the brother he never had. But he was not about to let his friend know that while he was smirking at him in that triumphant way.

"Yes, in every irritating way possible."

Arthur scoffed. "Just as you are sometimes."

They could hear the crew mumbling as they made their way back. Rhaegar stepped to the edge of the ship and looked out over the water back toward Westeros, not wanting to face their questioning looks. Arthur joined him, looking content.

"I realize I never swore you to secrecy," Rhaegar commented after a moment.

"Did you even need to ask?" Arthur asked.

Rhaegar felt his smile widen slightly. The first genuine one he'd had in a while. "No, I know you always have my back."

~Line Break~

Arthur stood silently in the tent as Rhaegar finished his story, having quietly crept back in after making the rounds. Lyanna's eyes were wide, both sorrow and awe upon her face.

"I'm so sorry it happened that way," she said softly a she leaned toward him, sympathy clear on her face. Rhaegar felt his heart leap a little as he looked into her grey eyes. They were so genuine, so sincere. Few had ever shown such genuine care for him, that it was difficult for him not to be affected by them.

He tore his gaze away. "It probably would have happened eventually. Though we are at peace now, there's no telling when a war may break out. At the very least, I know I can hold my own in a real fight, not a controlled one such as a tourney."

Lyanna nodded. At that moment, Ashara peeked into the room.

"It's getting late. Perhaps we should take her back?"

Rhaegar felt a slight twinge of disappointment and saw the same emotion in Lyanna's eyes. Again, he tried to ignore the way that made him feel and nodded. "Yes, we have truly spoken for too long."

Ashara just smiled. "Of course, you are welcome here tomorrow night as well, Lady Lyanna," she said to her new friend. "Both Elia and I have so many more questions about the North for you, having never been there."

Rhaegar gave Ashara a questioning look, but she only smiled innocently and took Lyanna's hand. "Say you'll come?"

"Oh… of course! I quite enjoyed talking to you all tonight." Her gaze flickered to Rhaegar as she spoke.

"We are glad to hear that," Rhaegar said softly. "Please rest well."

Lyanna met his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment, as if trying to see into his soul. He gave her a tiny smile, and saw her smile widen in response.

"You too, Rhaegar…"

Ashara showed her out then. As they left, Arthur sauntered over. "I notice that you let her call you by your first name."

"You all do. It would be strange for her to be the only one here calling me 'prince.'"

"Hmm, yes. I also noticed you didn't tell her the full story," he said softly.

Rhaegar sighed. "Of course I couldn't. Only you and Oswell know that. Your sister was still here, you know, and may hear it."

"Hmm, true. It wouldn't do to ruin Ashara's sensibilities just yet to know how deep this goes."

He had redacted much of the retelling, essentially telling Lyanna the version of the story Oswell had told the rest of the crew that had come with him to Essos. He could not tell her about Blackfyre, could not tell her the true identity of the man he'd killed, and not of the Golden company afterwards. Those were too closely guarded and dangerous secrets.

Despite this, he'd already said a lot more than he had meant to. Many of his inner doubts and feelings during that time, his fears of his abilities and of becoming like his father. Even Arthur had to prod and pry to get that out of him, but he'd found himself telling the same to Lyanna without prompting, her open and sympathetic face enough for him to feel comfortable doing so.

It was a precarious situation. He kept finding himself dangerously free around her, saying much more than he should. He had known her for so short a time, and yet already felt as if he could trust her. It was illogical, irrational, but… he could not help it.

He wanted her to understand, needed her to know his darker thoughts, and needed to know if she could accept that. And she had. So few had ever seen all this from him, and she had accepted all that without question. She did not mind he was not a perfect prince, and in fact seemed to like him more for it.

Rhaegar wasn't sure what that meant for them.

Arthur thankfully did not want to talk more that night. "Go to bed, Rhae. I sense there will be hell tomorrow once the King has slept on his anger a bit more."

"You're right," he said gratefully. He bid Arthur good night and prepared for bed. But repose did not come easily. Memories of Aenys's dead face flashed before his eyes again, and he clenched his fists. He hated killing, hated that this was the world he lived in.

But there was no choice.

There was war coming, and doom loomed over him. His petty grievances should not matter.

And yet, he couldn't help but remember that time in his life again. Remember returning to Westeros as a more worldly and cynical young man. He remembered keeping Blackfyre carefully locked and sealed, hidden away in the bowels of the castle at Dragonstone, before returning to King's Landing, his stoic mask firmly in place. But others must have sensed that he'd changed. He was grimmer than ever when training, and when he was not training or studying, he lost himself in his music. His songs grew more melancholy and tragic, so much so that when he played at Griffin's Roost at his friend Jon Connington's behest, it drove many court ladies to tears.

Few would ever know of what had driven him to this point. Others remarked that he did not seem particularly proud even when he distinguished himself so exceptionally at a tourney a year later that Ser Willem Darry declared that it was high time he received his knighthood. He only bowed his head humbly, thanking the Master of Arms, and tried not to remember the feeling of blood on his hands.

He was sixteen when he first killed a man, seventeen when he was knighted. And though others cheered and praised his skill as a warrior, he vowed to never be inured to it, to never forget the gravity and importance of every life.

* * *

**Author's Notes **

A quick note on Maester Aemon: I know in the show they've skipped a generation, and he's only Rhaegar's Great-uncle, but I feel like the skipping of a generation was weird, so I kept his book canon relation to the characters. He and Rhaegar were often in contact before his death, and I like to think they talked about more than just prophecies, and he got advice from him about his position as Crown Prince (like he'd given advice to his brother Egg). Also, I realize that Blackfyres don't really feature much in the show, but the Golden Company has been mentioned, and we never know, the show may pay some lip service to their origin, so I decided incorporate some of their book canon here.

Writing this chapter really took a lot of energy, especially trying to get it done before the season started. That being said, this marks the bit written before we have any idea of how GoT might end. Now that we have started the final season, I think I will take a bit of a break and slow down my writing. I'm in a critical time in school at the moment and really need to focus on that. Don't worry, this story will be completed! And as I said, I will be following the plans I have already set down, regardless of future contradictions (though if the show gives me any details I can actually work in, I will include them). I just will not be able to update as often or as regularly going forward.

**Chapter Notes:**

This chapter dives deep into another plot bunny I had when wondering about what happened to the ancestral Targaryen sword. Of course, it may never turn up in the show, and I'm sure this is far from how it will go down in the books, but I did think it would be cool if Blackfyre resurfaced. Another Valyrian Steel sword to fight the White Walkers would be super helpful, and another nod to Jon's dual heritage. In my imagination, Blackfyre is currently buried in Lyanna's tomb in the crypts of Winterfell, where no one would have guessed it was, and this is just the first step of how it ended up back in Westeros. I think it would be cool if this was Jon's major inheritance after he finds out about his heritage, and it would be super useful for him in the fight against not only the White Walkers, but the Golden Company that Cersei had hired. I do think at least some of them will turn on her once they find out their opponent are Targaryens, because some of them were probably loyalists who fled after Robert's Rebellion. Seeing the sword resurface would further make it seem like a sign for them (and make a dramatic reveal). In my imagination, Rhaegar himself never really used the sword, hating its association with having killed so much, but kept it in the Tower of Joy with Lyanna, for his children to inherit while hiding it from Aerys. After he died, Lyanna kept it with her until Ned found her. The servants in the room probably would have explained what it was, and Ned agreed to bury it with her body (along with her harp) so she could be laid to rest with at least part of the one she loved.

According to the wiki, Maelys Blackfyre was not known to have any descendants, and most people believed the line died with him. However, considering the medieval setting, I thought it could be possible he'd had children, like a bastard son and a daughter, and they were just never noted since they could never be considered his heirs. Being a dastardly fellow, He would likely have abandoned or married his daughter off early and while he might have shown some affection for his son, he did not actually acknowledge him as heir. I have a theory that the potential fake!Aegon of the books is actually a son of this only daughter, and perhaps this is known to some in the company, which is why they were willing to support his claim, even if he was pretending to be/thought of himself as the son of Rhaegar. And considering some of the Golden Company may be loyalists to the Targaryens exiled after Robert's Rebellion, it's a double insurance for him to get support from all factions within the army. In my story, a few of the men from the company tell Rhaegar they are loyal to him. this is mostly lip service on their part, and he knows it, because most of them just want to go home. A tiny part of them may have decided he was worthy to follow after seeing his skills, but their greater goal is of course hoping for a future pardon from exile. I would like to add this is probably only a minority in the company, and they would not have discussed these feelings with the others. But I did find it interesting that so many supported Aegon as a 'Targaryen' prince so easily, and wanted to add another reason for why they might have done so. If he's claiming to be Rhaegar's son on top of that, those loyal to House Targaryen, and anyone who had wanted to follow Rhaegar, would also see no problem serving him. Again, that Aegon is not in the show, but I do think some of his story will become relevant, maybe even merged with Jon's story, especially in how I imagine they could deal with the Golden Company.

This event also set into stone for Rhaegar who he could really trust to keep a big political secret, that being Arthur and Ser Oswell. While I think he trusted his other friends and close associates (such as Jon Connington and Ser Barristan Selmy), he's insanely cautious secretive normally, and wouldn't tell just anyone of his plans. Oswell proves to him here that he's willing to keep things from Aerys for a greater good, as is Arthur, and so they were the primary people who planned Harrenhal with him later on, and also oversaw his marriage to Lyanna.

If you have made it this far, then I have nothing but love and thanks for you for reading! I hope that I will not take too long to update, though once more, I will need a bit of a break to get my school things sorted. I hope everyone enjoys the coming final season, and we will not all be too emotionally scarred by it all!


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